Read Online Have No Shame by Melissa Foster - Free Book Online Page A

understand what the note meant, and I hoped we wouldn’t get caught.

Chapter Seven
    The sun hovered just above the horizon, illuminatin’ the sky in beautiful shades of blue, purple, and pink. I had been waitin’ for Jackson, watchin’ the sun set, and was ready to give up when I felt, more than heard, him behind me. My heartbeat sped up and set my legs tremblin’. I turned around and my eyes lingered over his sweat-laden muscles pressin’ against his drenched t-shirt.  I felt a blush creepin’ up my cheeks, and I was powerless to move. The air between us was suddenly thick, uncomfortable.
    “You came?” he asked in a low voice.
    I nodded, feelin’ the heat of his gaze, the same longin’ desire I was tryin’ so desperately to hide. I turned away and sat down on a wide tree stump, hopin’ to quell the heat on my cheeks. He knelt at the creek bed and washed his hands in the fresh water.
    “Did it go okay?” I asked.
    He looked back and that heat of attraction hit me again. I smoothed my skirt, then patted my hair, worryin’ about if I looked pretty enough. I didn’t know what to do with the feelin’s I was havin’. The same heart racin’ excitement I’d felt for Jimmy Lee so long ago, only somethin’ deeper. I wasn’t only interested in Jackson’s looks, like I was with Jimmy Lee at first. I wanted to know everything about Jackson. I wanted to touch him, take my time, savor the feel of his hand, our fingers interlaced. I wanted him to whisper my name in my ear and set my nerves on end. I looked away, embarrassed. What I wanted was so wrong that it was even more excitin’. What on earth was I doin’? 
    “Your pop’s real nice,” he said.
    My heart sunk. My father will kill me . 
    “Albert should be back by next week, when I leave.”
    Another kick to my heart. He was leavin’.
    Jackson wiped his hands on his pants and sat on the stump next to me. My senses were in overdrive. Goose bumps rose on my arms. My hands fiddled like nervous fish in my lap. Stop over dramatizin’ things . Surely I was just mad at Jimmy Lee, confused, but I could not deny the desire to relax my shoulder, to let it touch his. Was I turnin’ into one of those easy girls Jimmy Lee talked about?
    “How was the funeral?” I asked, tryin’ to stop thinkin’ about the richness of the color of his skin, the way it glistened with sweat, so smooth I wanted to touch it.
    “Sad. My aunt was there, and no one bothered her. I guess they figured they’d done enough, killin’ her husband and runnin’ her out of town. And now she’s gone.”
    Reality appeared in the form of Byron Bingham’s bloated face in my mind. I shivered, the former heat of attraction lost in reality. “Where will she live?”
    He shrugged. “What does it matter? She’s lived here for thirty years, now she doesn’t.” He clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw pulsated. “I think she went to Mississippi with my other relatives.”
    “Then at least she won’t be alone.” I had the urge to soothe him. If he were one of the guys I had known durin’ school I’d probably have put my arm around him and told him it would all be okay, but there was an invisible line between us, and I was afraid to cross it.
    He turned to face me, the sound of the water tricklin’ fell away, his breathin’ fillin’ each pulse of my heart. I was unable to resist the urge to be closer, if only by emotional pull. I turned my shoulders toward him and lifted my gaze. Our eyes held.
    “True,” he said, wringin’ his hands.
    I watched his lips move, heard his words, but my mind was workin’ what it might feel like to kiss him, what it might taste like. I stumbled over my words, finally askin’, “And Albert? How is he?” A tinglin’ sensation traveled up my arms again. I inched away from him, hopin’ to slow my racin’ heart.
    “He’s hurtin’, but good. Scared. You know.” He sighed, a long, loud sigh, his eyes lookin’ at me, my own desires reflectin’