Chapter Fifteen

Luke

“Shit.” I rolled over and rubbed my eyes before glancing at the digital clock on my nightstand, all too aware that Charlotte was still curled next to me, her hair splayed across my blue pillowcase.

“What?” she mumbled as she reached for me, pulling me closer.

“I missed church.”

“Just go to a later service.”

She moved onto her side, her warm, naked skin rubbing against my thigh. I turned over, hugging her close until my rigid cock was pressed against the seam of her ass. Minx that she was, she wiggled against me, coaxing me to pin her down and do all the things I’d done to her last night over and over again.

“There is no other service. The minister is probably already with his family for the day.”

“What, to go and ask for confession or something?” She yawned and snuggled against my chest.

“Catholics have confession. Not Baptists.”

She shrugged. “Potato, tomato.”

“Not the saying. Now, come on.” I flipped the covers from over her and she yanked them back up again—although not before I caught sight of her creamy skin and full breasts.

“What? I’m not going anywhere. It’s sleepy time.”

She pulled the covers over her head, and I walked around to her side of the bed, kissing the lump on the comforter where I knew her head was hidden.

“We missed the service, but we still have Sunday lunch with Molly and Duke. If we don’t show up, they’ll come to check on us. And do you want them finding you like this?”

Her blue eyes peeked out from the edge of the comforter. “Maybe.” She reached out from beneath it and ran a finger up the length of my thigh, tempting me from my knee to the inside of my leg, and then higher . . .

My cock gave a gratified twitch, and for a moment I pictured her leaning forward to take me in her mouth again, her morning hair still tousled as she moved her head up and down and worked me over.

“You like me,” she teased, smiling as my cock twitched at the mental image.

I stepped away from her and pointed to where she’d left her suitcase.

“Come on and get dressed. We can talk about how much I like you later.”

I headed for my dresser before I could see her pout—another reminder of how full and luscious those lips of hers were—and made quick work of dressing. Pulling my old Stallions ball cap over my head a few minutes later, I turned and found her all dolled up in a pretty lavender sundress that showed off her slender curves.

“You look incredible.”

She grinned at me and I took her hand, ready to pull her to the truck, but before I did, she quickly lifted the hem of her dress, flashing me.

I blinked in surprise, my brain stuttering to a dead stop. “Are you . . .”

She shook her head. “Nope. Not wearing panties. You know, in case you change your mind on the way there.”

Hot. Damn. This woman would be the death of me.

Throwing her onto the bed, I decided it would be best to take a little detour before hitting the road.

• • •

Half an hour later, when we were both sated and her hair was more mussed than before, we jumped into the truck and hightailed it to What the Cluck. Duke’s pickup was already in the parking lot, and we pulled up beside it.

Molly and Duke were waiting for us inside, the table already laden with our regular order of fried chicken, green beans, and biscuits. When I walked through the door, my sister gave me the kind of knowing look that made my cheeks warm.

If she’d been there, she would have known there was nothing I could do, though. Not when I had Charlotte so close and willing, sans panties.

Not when our time was almost up.

At least we’d shown up for lunch despite what we could be doing. Church was important, but family was my religion.

Charlotte and I sat on the bench opposite my siblings, and Molly grinned at us before offering us the plates she’d already dished out for us.

“How was church?” Charlotte asked brightly.

“It was wonderful. The sermon was about forgiveness,” Molly said, eyeing me.

“Then you won’t mind that we’re late,” I shot back, and Molly shot me another cutting look.

Duke just laughed. “We might, but I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. French will.” He nodded toward the older couple sitting in the corner of the room with the reverend and his wife.

“My absence was noted?” I raised my eyebrows.

Duke shrugged. “You know how Mrs. French is.”

“I don’t,” Charlotte said, and I winced, wishing my brother would stuff a sock in it.

“Mr. and Mrs. French feel strongly that their granddaughter needs to marry a nice boy from a good family,” Duke explained.

“And since everyone knows Duke isn’t the marrying type—” Molly added.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Duke held up his hands. “I tried, if you recall.”

“With Dana French?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Good move. No chance in hell.”

“Why not?” Charlotte asked.

“She’s more Luke’s type,” Duke said, and when Charlotte raised her eyebrows, Molly rushed in to explain.

“The Frenches just want someone who isn’t going to leave Shady Grove. They’re very close with Dana, especially now that her father passed.”

“I see.” Charlotte nodded. “And what do you think of Dana?” she asked me.

I glanced from my brother to my sister, not sure who was more deserving of my glare. “I hardly know her.”

“Unless you count every year of school from kindergarten to senior year of high school,” Duke said.

“That doesn’t mean I know her,” I insisted. “She was in my classes, but I can’t say I ever really talked to her.”

Charlotte laughed. “It’s okay, Luke. This isn’t a trial. Is Dana pretty?”

I frowned. Why did Charlotte even want to hear about what I thought of another woman? She was leaving and this was all temporary, but on the other hand—

She’d shared my bed with me. Had been with me under the bleachers. Shouldn’t some deeper, animal part of her be somewhat jealous? I tried to imagine myself in her shoes, and realized the thought of another guy touching her made me want to punch a hole through the fucking wall.

When I told Charlotte, “Not as pretty as you,” she turned her attention to her chicken, eating with even more gusto than she had with her pretzel after the football game.

“Might have to order seconds if you’re going to wolf it down like that,” Duke teased, and she grinned.

“They don’t make it like this where I’m from. So good. I’m trying to preserve the memory of the way this tastes.” In a flash, she whipped out her phone and took a picture of the half-empty plate, complete with the orange-and-white What the Cluck wax paper underneath.

“Hashtag too good not to eat,” she murmured to herself as she scrolled through the filters.

I laughed, then took a bite of my own chicken just in time for it to turn to dirt in my mouth as I looked up to find Wayne was walking toward us, his hands laden with carryout bags. He stopped at our table and grinned down at Charlotte.

“Oh. Hey, Wayne,” she said with a polite half smile.

“Hey.” He lifted the bags a little. “I was gonna call you, wanted to let you know your car should be all set around noon tomorrow. Whenever you’re ready to pick it up after, you’ll be good to go.”

I studied her face, but it remained impassive as she nodded.

“Okay, great. Thanks again for your help.”

When Wayne winked and headed for the door, I pushed my plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore. I knew there was an expiration date on my time with Charlotte—I’d reminded myself of that more times than I could count. But now that I knew the real timeline . . . now that I knew tonight was definitely our last night together?

It all felt different.

Wrong, somehow.

A combination of dread, doom, and despair mingled in my stomach. I looked up to catch Duke and Molly exchanging concerned glances, so this fact wasn’t lost on them, but Charlotte continued to pick away at her food, seemingly oblivious.

Was it just me? Didn’t she feel it too?

The thought that this strange sense of grief was one-sided made my temples throb.

“I guess your going-away party is going to have to be tonight then,” Molly said.

Charlotte laughed. “Going away party? I’ve only been here a week.”

“And every day has been better than the last. Come on, you can’t say no.” Molly grabbed a biscuit and took a big bite.

“Then I won’t.” Charlotte grinned from Molly to me, and I feigned a smile in return. “After all, it could be fun.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed with a little too much gusto. “Could be the best night of our lives.”

That seemed about right. Sort of like the way a death row inmate’s last meal was the most delicious one.