Startled, Hannah glances down at her exposed skin and immediately gives her shirt a tug, covering the bruises and abrasions, “You’ve made your point,” she hisses, “now leave me the fuck alone.”
I stare at her, oblivious as to what she’s referring to. I don’t get a chance to respond before she sees Bowen sauntering across the concrete toward us. A second later, she grabs the first can she sees and slams the cooler hastily, nearly smashing my fingers. She slinks past him and even though I’m looking at the back of her head, I know from the way Bowen’s eyes move that he’s made eye contact with her. When he does, she puts her head down and cracks her can open.
They have the weirdest relationship I’ve ever seen. One minute, Hannah’s fawning over Bowen and talking about him like he’s Adonis, and a day later she’s a nervous wreck who can’t even look him in the eye. Granted, right now he kind of looks like Adonis with his white towel slung around his hips and the blithe way he ambles across the patio. In a strange way, he seems to be enjoying Hannah’s uneasiness by the subtle way he smirks at her when she walks by. It’s similar to how he and Hildy treat each other, except Hildy would’ve hurled some insult at him or punched him in the gut.
I open the cooler again as Bowen comes to a halt next to me. He reaches in and pulls out the first can he sees. I finally choose one and stand back up, still watching Hannah as she takes a seat next to Hildy at the table.
“What’s up?” Bowen notices me staring across the patio.
“Hannah has some really bad bruises on her back. She wouldn’t tell me what they’re from.”
He cracks open his can, “Maybe she finally mouthed off to the wrong person. Maybe one of her simps turned out not to be such a simp.”
Bowen’s flippant response catches me off-guard. I don’t know how to take his nonchalance that Hannah might’ve been beaten up by another man. He seems surprisingly unconcerned for someone who claims to be watching out for her emotional state. Or maybe he’s finally gotten tired of her antics, too—not that it’s an excuse.
I look down at the concrete and don’t respond.
“Hey, I need to ask you something,” Bowen changes the subject, and I’m kind of glad he does, “what do you think about August 24th?”
“For what?”
“For marrying me.”
In an instant, I forget all about Hannah and her suspicious bruises, “That’s, like—” I stammer, visualizing the calendar in my head, “three months away!”
He’s unfazed, “How much time you need?”
And, the truth is, I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to get married, eventually, but I was never the little girl who dreamed up her wedding day and had every detail figured out by the time she turned 10.
“I guess not much,” I admit with a smile. “What kind of wedding should we have?” I’m so unprepared. I’ve been so focused on getting my book written and sent off to agents, I haven’t even thought about what kind of wedding I want.
“That’s all you, baby girl,” Bowen reaches up and brushes his thumb down my jawline, “I picked the date. Just tell me where and when to show up.”
“Great,” I scoff, “maybe I just won’t tell you anything and you can just hitch a ride with Hildy and Jay the day of.”
“My favorite kind of plans,” he says with a wink, “now, since that’s out of the way, join me?” he nods to the house.
“Yeah,” I jerk my head up with a laugh, “because I really want everyone out here to think about me showering with you.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Bowen reaches up and tips my chin up with the edge of his can before giving me a soft kiss, “but they already know what I do to you in the shower.”
I consider it for a brief moment; after getting drenched and hauled out of the muddy creek, taking a steamy shower with Bowen sounds like an absolute fucking dream.
“Valid,” I nod, “but that doesn’t mean I want to deal with all the shit-talking afterward.”
Bowen looks over my shoulder at the table, where Rick and Leona have joined the others, “I guess you know them pretty well by now,” he smirks. “It’s fine, I’ll just get my pound of flesh later.”
I shoot him a sultry smile, loving the tremors that ripple through my stomach every time he looks at me like that, “Are you going to be nice?”
Bowen gives me a once-over before starting for the house, “Joke’s on you, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder, “I’m never nice.” When he gets to the back door, he stops and turns halfway around, “Hey!” he shouts past me, drawing the attention of everyone seated at the table, “August 24th—we’re getting married.”
A moment later, there’s an eruption of stunned gasps and excited shouts from Hildy and Leona. When I turn around, Bowen’s grinning at me with a smug look on his face, knowing full well the onslaught that’s waiting for me at the table. I shoot him a tight-lipped smile and then, in a split-second decision, turn to follow him inside the house.
He gives me a sharp smack on my ass as I slip past him, “I know you’re not one for big scenes,” he whispers with satisfaction, letting the door swing shut behind us.
●●●
I return to the backyard about an hour later, hair fixed, make-up done, and wearing a much cuter outfit that doesn’t smell like muddy creek water. The dust has settled, more or less, since Bowen made his announcement from the back door.
Jay’s voice booms above all else as I arrive at the table, “How the hell could you keep your big-ass mouth shut for that long?” he calls to Bowen, who’s sitting on the edge of his tailgate, freshly showered, wearing a clean t-shirt tucked into a new pair of jeans.
“It’s not difficult,” Bowen grins as he swings his legs back and forth.
“Why?” Leona glances back and forth between Jay and Bowen, “What’s he done now?”
Jay cocks his head at Leona, “You seriously never knew?”
“What?” she narrows her eyes at them, getting more excited by the second and glancing over at Rick, who’s watching the exchange with amusement.
I pull out the remaining chair and take a seat as Jay begins telling his story.
“So, this happened a while ago…” Jay pauses to collect himself, “we’re all sitting out here and Waylon and Brody come tearing out of the woods. Brody’s chasing Waylon because he’s got ahold of something and he’s running like he has a fucking T-bone steak in his mouth. Except—” Jay pauses for dramatic effect, “it was not a T-bone steak.”
I glance at Bowen, who turns away with a laugh.
“I don’t know what it was—a dead possum, part of a deer carcass—but it was foul,” Jay gives a shake of his head, “all mangled and rotten, and Waylon was tearing around like he was having the time of his life. Well,” he squeezes his eyes shut, giggling uncontrollably, “Bo sees him, freaks out, takes a flying leap off the deck, and chases that dog all over creation. So then both Bo and Brody are chasing Waylon, who still has God-knows-what hanging out of his mouth.”
Rick is sitting back in his chair chuckling and Leona is scowling in disgust like she’d rather not hear the rest of the story.
