Read Online For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) by Selena Laurence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Selena Laurence
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a six-year-old as we drive in the darkness, bouncing along the dirt roads back to the ranch. He’s in the passenger’s seat, head thrown back against the headrest, mouth clamped shut, and boot tapping in the floorboards impatiently.
"Watch those fucking dips, man," he mutters as I hop us over a pothole. "Since you gave away all your damn money, I know you can’t afford to buy me a new suspension."
"Give me a break. I swear to God, this is a truck, Mike. A huge motherfucking truck. You’d have to haul through a dip six feet deep before you’d hurt the suspension on this thing. It was made to work. You treat it like it’s some sort of Italian sports car."
He snorts and turns to look out the side window. After a moment of silence, he tells me, "I’m not trying to get in her pants."
"Really? ‘Cause it sure as hell looked that way with you two practically on top of each other at that table in the darkest corner of The Bronco. You were sniffing her hair, for Christ’s sake."
"Shut the fuck up! I was not."
I can’t help but smile. It feels good to get him all riled up. Maybe I’m taking my frustrations out on him, but he’s done enough things to piss me off in the last twenty years that he deserves it.
"You were, dude. I saw it with my own eyes. Speaking of, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you giving googly eyes to a chick before. It was like you were a cat and she was covered in catnip. You looked stoned just from sitting with her."
I see the smallest hint of a smile play around the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m right.
"Okay, so she is hot, but I swear I’m not trying to get in her pants. It’s not like that."
"Tell me what it is like then, because from what I hear, you’re risking your nuts even talking to her."
He sighs and adjusts the vents in the cab, fiddling with the temperature control and directing most of the air in the truck at himself. "First of all, she’s twenty-three, so it’s not like I’m hanging around with jailbait. And yeah, I know all about her old man. She doesn’t live with her parents. She teaches at the elementary school, has her own place. The mighty reverend doesn’t get to decide who she’s friends with." I can hear the defiance in his voice. Mike’s nothing if not defiant.
I shudder to think how far he might take this and what the fallout could be. I briefly wonder if the reverend has a private hotline to God and could damn Mike—and me by association—to Hell. My head starts to ache at the idea.
"You still haven’t told me the part about not trying to get in her pants," I remind him.
"She wants to perform," he blurts out. "She’s got a voice like… Well, I know it’s really sappy to say, but like an angel. And she wants to make it in country music. She didn’t know who I was, but once I heard her sing at The Bronco one night, I told her. She’s got what it takes, and I want to help her, you know? Maybe, I don’t know, produce an album for her or something."
"No shit? You really want to take on producing? A country album?"
"Yeah, I was thinking…" He pauses and glances over at me as if he can’t quite decide whether to trust me or not.
"You were thinking what?" I prompt.
"I was thinking maybe I’d play guitar on it too. I mean, with the right arrangements, we could do something bluesy, with crossover appeal. Taylor Swift’s made the transition from country to pop like cake, and a girl like Jenny, with her looks and her pipes? I think she could hit it big in country and alt rock."
As I listen to his confession, I’m stunned. It’s like pod people have invaded Mike’s body. He’s actually thinking about—and with —something other than his dick. But it is about music, and that’s the one thing that can bring him out of his self-indulgent, hedonistic cave. Maybe the combination of a hot-as-hell blond preacher’s daughter and music is what Mike’s needed for years.
"Wow. I’d never have guessed, dude. You’re
"Watch those fucking dips, man," he mutters as I hop us over a pothole. "Since you gave away all your damn money, I know you can’t afford to buy me a new suspension."
"Give me a break. I swear to God, this is a truck, Mike. A huge motherfucking truck. You’d have to haul through a dip six feet deep before you’d hurt the suspension on this thing. It was made to work. You treat it like it’s some sort of Italian sports car."
He snorts and turns to look out the side window. After a moment of silence, he tells me, "I’m not trying to get in her pants."
"Really? ‘Cause it sure as hell looked that way with you two practically on top of each other at that table in the darkest corner of The Bronco. You were sniffing her hair, for Christ’s sake."
"Shut the fuck up! I was not."
I can’t help but smile. It feels good to get him all riled up. Maybe I’m taking my frustrations out on him, but he’s done enough things to piss me off in the last twenty years that he deserves it.
"You were, dude. I saw it with my own eyes. Speaking of, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you giving googly eyes to a chick before. It was like you were a cat and she was covered in catnip. You looked stoned just from sitting with her."
I see the smallest hint of a smile play around the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m right.
"Okay, so she is hot, but I swear I’m not trying to get in her pants. It’s not like that."
"Tell me what it is like then, because from what I hear, you’re risking your nuts even talking to her."
He sighs and adjusts the vents in the cab, fiddling with the temperature control and directing most of the air in the truck at himself. "First of all, she’s twenty-three, so it’s not like I’m hanging around with jailbait. And yeah, I know all about her old man. She doesn’t live with her parents. She teaches at the elementary school, has her own place. The mighty reverend doesn’t get to decide who she’s friends with." I can hear the defiance in his voice. Mike’s nothing if not defiant.
I shudder to think how far he might take this and what the fallout could be. I briefly wonder if the reverend has a private hotline to God and could damn Mike—and me by association—to Hell. My head starts to ache at the idea.
"You still haven’t told me the part about not trying to get in her pants," I remind him.
"She wants to perform," he blurts out. "She’s got a voice like… Well, I know it’s really sappy to say, but like an angel. And she wants to make it in country music. She didn’t know who I was, but once I heard her sing at The Bronco one night, I told her. She’s got what it takes, and I want to help her, you know? Maybe, I don’t know, produce an album for her or something."
"No shit? You really want to take on producing? A country album?"
"Yeah, I was thinking…" He pauses and glances over at me as if he can’t quite decide whether to trust me or not.
"You were thinking what?" I prompt.
"I was thinking maybe I’d play guitar on it too. I mean, with the right arrangements, we could do something bluesy, with crossover appeal. Taylor Swift’s made the transition from country to pop like cake, and a girl like Jenny, with her looks and her pipes? I think she could hit it big in country and alt rock."
As I listen to his confession, I’m stunned. It’s like pod people have invaded Mike’s body. He’s actually thinking about—and with —something other than his dick. But it is about music, and that’s the one thing that can bring him out of his self-indulgent, hedonistic cave. Maybe the combination of a hot-as-hell blond preacher’s daughter and music is what Mike’s needed for years.
"Wow. I’d never have guessed, dude. You’re
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