Romeo: A Payne Brothers Romance Page 13

  Bright. Sexy. Just a hint of sunshine.

  And the worst part?

  Accidentally falling asleep.

  Served me right for inviting him over so late. Once the clock struck midnight, and the highlighters had dried up, I was out like a light. This led to the ultimate and final insult to my virginity.

  The absolute heartache of waking up fully clothed next to him.

  What should have been a magical, utterly amazing experience of a man and woman sharing such an intimate space—skin against skin, heartbeats in sync—had instead resulted in me accidentally rolling off the couch, banging my head off the coffee table, and spilling an untouched glass of water over a pile of meticulously organized flowcharts which choreographed every conceivable outcome to our next plan.

  I groaned. The water soaked my shirt, and a lump grew on my forehead. I landed on a pen. It exploded. Nothing said sexy morning like a concussion and blotted ink. I had no napkins nearby, so I used the next best thing—one of Quint’s grand schemes, doodled on to a piece of cardboard as he’d dared to suggest the graph paper was only for nerds.

  Somewhere between the scrawled words and inappropriately graphic images, Quint had proposed we stage an elaborate play for the town so that we might teach forgiveness. And while a sweet parable might have worked, the naughty burlesque he’d imagined was certainly not family friendly.

  When I shot that idea down, he’d suggested a more extreme route. A kidnapping of certain family members and holding them against their will in the Payne barn. This also seemed a risky idea given the Payne’s tendency to burn down properties—their own and others. Sparking tempers and dry hay was a recipe for disaster. As were any and all of his ideas which included any form of stage production, illegal activity, fake deaths, and, least likely to succeed, a faux Apocalypse.

  Not only had we wasted an entire night of planning, our stupid friendship pact had ruined any chance of something happening…

  Something entirely too complicated.

  In a few days, I’d be relieved that we had maintained a professional decorum throughout the evening.

  But at the moment?

  The irritation was real.

  I grumbled, clutching my head and patting the couch behind me to search for my phone. My fingers grazed the leather couch, the TV remote, and finally smacked into Quint’s leg.

  No.

  Not his leg.

  I yelped, bolting to my feet to apologize for interrupting what was obviously a very good morning for my friend.

  The bright morning sunshine did nothing to ease the throbbing in my head. I grabbed my phone and squinted at the squiggles of font on the home screen, hoping I was just bleary-eyed and not concussed. The time didn’t make any sense.

  8:27?

  “Oh no!”

  I didn’t bother waking Quint. I shot over the couch, using him as a stepping stool to race to the window.

  “Get up, get up, get up!”

  Maybe we didn’t sleep together, but we sure as hell overslept!

  I peeked out the window. My heart nearly leapt through the glass and took off running. This was a nightmare.

  The door to the main house swung open, and a cane threatened to puncture the sidewalk.

  Grandma.

  One of the perks to living in Grandma’s guesthouse for the summer was a sense of privacy…save for the twenty minutes she spent visiting me every morning during her walk.

  She claimed it was a polite visit.

  My sisters warned she’d search for any impropriety.

  But, until now, the worst I’d ever done was leave a plate soaking in the sink overnight. Chores were to be done immediately, she always said. If you have a chore, there’s no reason to be bored.

  Little did she know I had the most difficult chore of all sleeping on the couch. Quint had refused to sit still, plan, or engage in any reasonable conversations throughout the night, even after I’d confiscated both the remote and a pack of matches from the man. But even the worst ADD didn’t deserve Grandma’s wrath.

  Oh, this wasn’t good. This sort of indecency was expected from Contessa—not me. And, as I wasn’t paying rent for the summer while enjoying a fully stocked refrigerator, the last thing I wanted to do was insult Grandma’s generosity by breaking one of her many house rules.

  Plus, the heart attack she’d suffer upon discovery of a Payne in her home was not the sort of guilt I wanted on my conscience.

  “Quint!” I tossed a shoe at his head. Grandma would hate that too—everything had its place. Shoes in the closet. Umbrellas in the stand. Paynes on their own damned property. “You gotta get up!”

  What could I do?

  Beg for mercy? No. Grandma was one of the few people in this world that never made a mistake—well, she and Jesus, of course. Though Grandma occasionally had some questions regarding our Lord and Savior’s behavior that left Pastor V pretty uncomfortable.

  Good thing she liked Varius—once she found Quint sleeping in her guest house, my butt would be glued to Pastor V’s front pew every morning until she was satisfied her chastisement had rendered me chaste or I’d finally fled to Europe.

  If she’d let me go after such a shocking revelation.

  Wasn’t like she could prevent me from leaving—but the trust she’d left in my name and allowed me to draw from before I’d turned twenty-five was necessary for the trip.

  Her cane scuffed along the cement path between the houses, delicately bordered with morning lilies, willow bushes, and enough ground cover and perennials to stage the church’s Garden of Eden pageant right there in her backyard. Grandma took as much pride in her gardens as Christianity permitted, and she ensured my sisters and I learned the appropriate lessons. A woman tended to her garden above all else—hoeing in private and blossoming where all could see. Unfortunately, Grandma had a habit of weeding other people’s flowerbeds.

  I hurried to the couch, shoving Quint. Even asleep, his biceps tensed, firm and bulging. That pure strength elicited every terrible thought and feeling Grandma would beat out of me with the cane if Quint didn’t get the hell up. I tugged on his shirt and tried to lift him to his feet.

  No dice.

  “Quint, you’ve gotta get up!”

  “Easy, baby…” His voice thickened with sleep. “We got plenty of time.”

  “Wake up!”

  “You want some more? Damn girl…”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  “You’re looking good.”

  His eyes weren’t even open. The man hit on anything and everything within a three-foot radius.

  Grandma would love that.

  “Come on,” I said.

  “That’s what I like to hear…” His words slurred together. “All you gotta do is ask…”

  I pinched his arm. He probably deserved a slap across the cheek. The man was dirty even in his dreams. But his eyes finally peeked open. Not that it did any good. His unfocused gaze stared straight through me.

  Christ, he was hard to wake up.

  I shoved him again. Quint didn’t sleep. He pretty much fell unconscious.

  “None of that rough stuff,” he said. “Give it to me nice and easy.”

  He was impossible. I grabbed his arm and attempted to haul him off the couch. The man couldn’t even stand on his own two feet. It seemed to rouse him though. He wavered, squeezing his eyes shut. His voice turned hoarse.

  “Gotta eat something.”

  I guided him away from the living room. “Later. Grandma is coming.”

  “You look pretty sweet.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We have to hide you.”

  “Got nothing to hide.” Quint stumbled into the wall as I searched for somewhere to stash the lug of groggy man meat. “Should be…showing off…where am I?”

  The coat closet was as good a place as any to store him until I could get rid of Grandma. I threw open the door and shoved him inside. Quint immediately tripped over the shoes and landed on a pile of coats.

&nbs
p; Like this was his first time hiding in a girl’s closet.

  “You’re not a morning person, are you?” I asked.

  “…Thirsty.”

  “I can’t get you anything right now.”

  He reached for me. “Gimme some sugar.”

  I’d kiss him later. Give him whatever he wanted, just as long as he stayed quiet.

  Grandma’s cane rattled on the porch. I panicked. I pushed him deeper into the closet. Would it be unethical to jam a chair under the knob to keep him contained?

  I didn’t have time.

  The front door opened. I flashed an over-dramatic smile.

  “Grandma!” My voice squeaked. “Is it 8:30 already?”

  Grandma might’ve been old, but she wasn’t stupid.

  She might’ve been strict, but she wasn’t without her reasons.

  And she might’ve been exceedingly religious…but that didn’t make her very forgiving.

  Agatha Barlow was a woman of pride, and despite the world doing its best to wear a lady like her down, she’d survived brutal times through sheer force of will, sacrificing only two inches of height in her old age. I knew better than to try to get one over on her. Grandma recognized when her grandchildren acted like fools. Duchess and Contessa had made that mistake many times when we were kids, but I was far too old to have to kneel on rice with bare knees and recite my catechisms for the entire morning.

  “Good morning, Lady.” Grandma offered her arm, and I eagerly led her from the entryway into the kitchen.

  I attempted to block her view of the mess in the living room.

  I failed.

  Grandma sucked in a breath and prepared to tut. “Good Heavens, child. Look at this place.”

  Nothing got past Grandma. Especially a teetering pile of dishes, a deluge of papers and notebooks, and a spilled bowl of popcorn from when Quint insisted that he could catch five kernels in a row without opening his eyes. We’d spilled nearly two bags of popcorn onto the floor before he insisted that his trick wouldn’t work with Jiffy Pop, only the air-popped brand they used at the farm.

  Fortunately, Grandma’s vision was too weak to spy any of the notes and plans we had crafted last night. Unfortunately, this meant that none of the mess seemed productive to her. She settled at the kitchen table, folding her palms in her lap.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Lady.” Her frown had a way of scolding the entire world for such unhappy circumstances. “A woman should always tend to her home. Is this what your dormitory looks like at University? Is this how you will stay in your hotel when you travel?”

  I did my best to scatter the papers, plates, and leftover sugar-free cookies from the table. Quint shoes rested in the middle the living room. I sucked in a breath, kicked them under the couch, and returned to Grandma with a broad grin.

  “No,” I said. “This is only what it looks like after I reorganize my life. I was trying to create a new itinerary since I’m a little behind on my trip.”

  I hated lying to my grandmother, and I hated even more that she believed every word that came out of my mouth. I wasn’t my sisters. She had no reason to think that I would hide anything from her.

  I poured some water into the teapot and set it on the stove.

  Grandma directed me to the cupboard. “Earl grey, child.”

  The strong stuff?

  She wasn’t here for a pleasant chit-chat then. I pulled the loose-leaf tea from the cabinet.

  “You got it, Grandma.”

  “Something was mentioned at dinner the other night,” she said. “Something concerning.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you! I was hoping I could talk to you about that.”

  She patted my arm with dark, arthritic fingers that belied the artist skill she once possessed when she was younger and capable of holding a paintbrush. Not many people realized the portraits of Jesus she hung within her home were painted by her hand.

  “That’s what I’m here for, Lady. I am your grandmother. And I am willing to offer my advice.”

  A crash echoed from the coat closet, but I cleared my throat to mask the sound.

  “Good,” I said. “Hopefully you can talk some sense into Duke. He respects you. All these threats about lawsuits and buying farms and running the Paynes out of town. It’s insanity.”

  Grandma’s thin lips formed a tight line. “A long time ago, I told the family about my intentions with the business. I left the decision-making about the market to your father. He has chosen Duke and Marquis to continue operations while he and your mother begin new franchises out of state. I have no say in the foolishness they choose to pursue.”

  “But—”

  “You were offered a chance to participate in the family business, but you decided to step back and take time for yourself instead.” Grandma arched an eyebrow. “And that was the right decision.”

  “But—”

  The only thing Grandma disliked more than summer mosquitoes and untucked shirts were interruptions.

  She quieted me with a raised finger. “By choosing that path, you forfeited the right to make decisions regarding the business. Your brothers will succeed or fail based on their own merits and ideas. And that is none of your concern at the moment.”

  The teakettle whistled, and I added the tea leaves to the infuser. While it brewed, I placed the teacups with saucers on the table, ensuring, and proper fashion, that I also provided milk, lemon, and honey. Of course, Grandma took her tea with only lemon, and she expected the rest of the world to do the same. Even mentioning the word sugar was too sweet for her, and she insisted it would ruin the essence of the tea.

  My sisters and I had learned at a young age how to prepare Grandma’s tea to her exact specifications…but we’d also trained ourselves to hide a cube of sugar between our fingers so we could sweeten our own drinks when she wasn’t looking.

  “Lady, I wished to speak to you about something referenced at dinner. Something that seemed…” Grandma couldn’t see through her cataracts, but somehow her stare peered straight into my soul. “Distressing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The talk of you…and boys.”

  I nearly spilled the tea. The liquid puddled and overflowed from the saucer.

  “Grandma…” These were conversations not fit for holding boiling water. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “A grandmother doesn’t worry. She prepares.” She made no attempt to reach for her tea. “And it’s time someone prepared you, my youngest granddaughter, for this world…and the men in it.”

  Oh no.

  Mom had given me this talk years ago, and she had ensured her conversation included only the chapter headings present in a high school biology textbook. Duchess, Regent, and Contessa filled in the rest of the gaps…though learning by example had led to some very peculiar beliefs. Had I followed their advice, I might have believed that the only way a woman could land herself a man was if she armed herself with a bullwhip, leather corset, and safe word.

  Grandma was a proud, fierce woman who feared nothing.

  Not even ridiculously uncomfortable and humiliating conversations.

  “You’re going to be traveling soon,” she said. “And you will be meeting men. Lots of men, from very different backgrounds. And you’ll be tempted to begin relations with them.”

  I snorted. Tea poured out of my nose. With a cough, I slammed a napkin over my face. It stemmed the embarrassment for the moment. If I couldn’t see her…maybe we weren’t actually having this conversation.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Really. You don’t need to—”

  “It is time you understand what is expected of a woman in these sorts of relationships.”

  “Grandma, I’m twenty. I’m not a child anymore.”

  “For your sake, I hope you are.” She rattled her cane against the ground. “Now, I’m sure your mother offered you a sanitized, unreasonable story about birds, bees, and a blossoming maidenhood.”

  That word sounded dust
y coming from Grandma.

  I hated to beg. “Can we please not talk about my maidenhood?”

  Why had my sisters never warned me about this conversation?

  Unless…Grandma never inflicted them with this particular torture.

  She often devised new and interesting punishments for wayward children, usually punctuated with the whack of the cane against our knuckles. But mortification was a tool she had never used before.

  What had I done wrong? Did she know Quint was in the house?

  We were in uncharted territory.

  And my eighty-three-year-old grandmother wanted to talk sex.

  “I appreciate the help,” I said. “But I know about everything you’re trying to say without you needing to say it. We're on the same page.”

  She hmphed. “I doubt that. And I’ll tell you why. Because the concept of the birds and the bees is incorrect.”

  “I was never one for parables anyway. But we covered the reproduct—” The word croaked from my lips. I could only manage a few syllables before cringing. “That whole system in school. I get it.”

  “You think taking some college-level biology class is all you need to understand what men want in this world?” Grandma actually laughed with a dry incredulity. “You may know the parts, the actions, and every filthy requirement in between, but you are still young. And you do not know the ways of this world yet.”

  I never thought Quint and Grandma would have something in common. Apparently, both were very concerned about my virginity.

  I offered a tiny prayer to Jesus before taking it back, fearing that he would magically appear in the kitchen as well, and both he and Grandma would offer some horrifying pantomime involving her cane in his halo.

  “What you need to know is that this world is not about the birds and the bees.” Grandma wagged a finger at me. “It is about the horny toads and their flies.”

  Never in my life had I heard my grandmother use the word horny.

  Duchess would never believe this.

  “Frogs and bugs.” I shimmied from the table, hoping to end the conversation there. “I got it. Tongues. Wings. Tadpoles and maggots. It’s all making perfect sense. Thank you, Grandma.”

  Her cane nearly stabbed through the tile. “Sit yourself back down, Lady Barlow. You listen to me, and you listen well.”