Page 4 of One Night Rebellion (Bellehaven Hotties #10)

J T

"Do you wanna come see this house with me?" I ask my dad the next morning while we have our breakfast. "Troy said he could come this afternoon, and I'd like for you both to agree on it. Each of you have your own strengths."

Dad smirks. "Troy will look and make sure that the house is sound. I'll make sure you aren't getting your ass handed to you with the interest rate. Is that what you mean?"

"It is. I've got the best of both worlds."

"Then whenever Troy is available, I'll make myself available too."

"Perfect, thank you. Malcolm will probably meet us out there. He's the agent I'm using." I take a bite of the waffles Mom made us before she left to take Sierra to school.

"Sounds good, just text me the address. I'll meet y'all out there. I have to go in and watch some tape."

"Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too."

I don't start my new job until Monday, so I have a few more days to fuck around Bellehaven.

When I'm done with breakfast, I head out to my car and head for downtown.

I've missed this little place. Especially after being in Nashville for so long, the slower pace of life is exactly what I've been looking for.

The main drag hasn't changed much since I left. Same brick buildings, mostly the same businesses. But that's exactly what I love about it. I park near the courthouse square and decide to walk around, maybe grab another coffee before I meet everyone at the house.

That's when I spot something new—a bright yellow lemonade truck parked under the old oak tree by the gazebo.

There's already a decent line forming, which is saying something for a Tuesday morning in Bellehaven.

The hand-painted sign on the side reads "Sweet & Sour," and I can smell fresh lemons from here.

And standing about three people ahead in line, wearing cutoff denim shorts and a soft pink tank top that shows off her tanned shoulders, is Addie.

My feet are moving before I can talk myself out of it. I slide into line behind her, trying to play it cool even though my heart's doing something stupid in my chest. She's got her hair pulled up in a messy bun, exposing the length of her smooth neck.

"Fancy meeting you here," I say, keeping my voice low enough that she has to turn around to hear me properly.

When she does, those eyes of hers go wide for just a second before that familiar smirk curves her lips. "JT? Are you following me now?" She gets out of line and comes back to stand next to me.

"Maybe I just have excellent timing," I counter, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and touching her. I rock back on my heels. "Besides, looks like half the town's here. This must be some good lemonade."

"It's new," she explains, turning slightly so we're facing each other instead of the truck. "Opened last week. Jenny Morrison's daughter started it—you remember Jenny? She used to work at the bank? Used to give out the best peanut butter bark when you'd go through the drive-thru."

I nod, though I'm not really focused on Jenny Morrison or her daughter. I'm focused on the way Addie's lips move when she talks, and how the morning sun is catching the gold flecks in her eyes.

I ask as the line moves forward, "You've been here before. What should I get?"

"The strawberry lemonade is incredible," she says, and I watch her tongue dart out to wet her bottom lip. "Sweet with just enough tartness to make your mouth water."

Christ, is she trying to kill me? Because the way she's looking at me right now, combined with those words, is making me think about a lot more than lemonade.

"Sounds dangerous," I manage, my voice coming out rougher and deeper than it should, considering this is my high school best friend's little sister.

"The best things usually are." She turns back toward the truck, but I catch the way her cheeks flush pink.

We move forward in comfortable silence, but I can feel the tension crackling between us. When it's her turn to order, she gets a large strawberry lemonade and steps aside to wait for me.

"Large regular lemonade," I tell the teenager working the window—must be Jenny's daughter. She's got her mom's blonde hair but looks nervous as hell to be serving the growing crowd.

"That'll be eight dollars," she says, and I hand over a ten, telling her to keep the change.

When I join Addie off to the side, she's already taken a sip of her drink, and there's a small drop of pink liquid clinging to her bottom lip. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it away with my thumb.

The moment my skin touches hers, she goes completely still. Her eyes lock with mine, and I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. For a second, I think she might lean into the touch, but then she steps back, putting space between us.

"Messy," she says quietly, but her voice is breathless when she speaks.

"Yeah," I agree, though I'm not talking about the lemonade. "Messy can be good sometimes."

She takes another sip, this time more carefully, and I do the same. The lemonade is perfect, tart and sweet and cold, but all I can focus on is watching Addie's mouth against the straw. The way her lips pucker around the tip. I'm thinking about her lips being wrapped around something else.

"So," she says after a moment, "what brings you downtown this morning? Besides stalking me at lemonade trucks?"

"House shopping, actually. Meeting Malcolm and my dad and Troy this afternoon to look at a place. I just didn't want to sit around the house waiting. Thought I'd come down here and see what's happening. The furniture store always has good deals.”

Her eyebrows raise. "You're serious about staying then?"

"Dead serious." I take a step closer, lowering my voice. "This is home, Addie. Always has been. I just needed to go away for a while to remember that."

Something shifts in her expression. "And what made you remember?"

"Honestly?" I reach out and tuck a strand of hair that's escaped her bun behind her ear. "Coming back and seeing that although some things have changed, lots have stayed the same."

She looks like she wants to say something, but then my phone buzzes with a text. I check it quickly. It’s Malcolm saying he's heading to the house early if I want to meet him there.

"I have to go," I say reluctantly. "But, Addie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I followed you to the lemonade truck."

She smiles, the first real, unguarded smile I've seen from her since I've been back. "Me too."

I force myself to walk away before I do something stupid like kiss her right here in the middle of downtown Bellehaven. But as I head back to my car, I can feel her watching me go, and it takes everything I have not to turn around.

-----

The house is as perfect as it looked yesterday. I had somehow thought maybe I was seeing it as amazing because I wanted to, but no. It's actually perfect.

It's a 1920s Craftsman on Maple Street, just four blocks from downtown. Two bedrooms, one and a half baths, with original hardwood floors and a front porch that wraps around one side. The kitchen needs updating, and the back bathroom could use some work, but the bones are solid.

"Foundation's good," Troy says, emerging from the crawl space under the house with dirt on his shirt and a satisfied expression. "No major structural issues that I can see. Electrical's been updated, plumbing looks decent. You'd want to replace that water heater soon, but nothing urgent."

Dad's been going over the paperwork with Malcolm, and he gives me a thumbs up. "Numbers look fair. Interest rate's competitive, and you're not paying too much over market value. I'd say pull the trigger if you like it."

And I do like it. More than like it, I can see myself here. Can picture having people over for barbecues in the backyard, sitting on the front porch with a beer after work, maybe someday having a family here.

"Let's do it," I tell Malcolm.

The paperwork takes about an hour. Earnest money, inspection contingencies, all the legal stuff that makes buying a house feel real and terrifying at the same time. By the time we're done, it's almost six o'clock, and Dad and Troy have both headed home.

I sit in my Mustang outside the house—my house, if everything goes through—and try to process what I just did. I put down roots. Real, permanent, this-is-where-I-belong roots. The type of shit I never thought I'd do when I tore my knee all to hell.

The smart thing would be to go home, have dinner with Mom and Dad and Sierra, maybe watch some TV and get to bed early. But I don't want to be smart right now. I want to celebrate, and I know exactly where I want to do it.

Rusty's isn't busy, just a handful of regulars scattered around the bar and two guys playing pool in the back.

And there she is, behind the bar, polishing glasses with a white towel. She's changed out of the pink tank top from this morning into a black V-neck that hugs her curves in all the right places, and her hair is down now, falling in waves over her shoulders.

Addie looks up when I walk in, and I swear I see something like relief flash across her face before she schools her expression into something more neutral.

"Well, well," she says as I slide onto a barstool directly in front of her. "Look what the cat dragged in. How'd the house hunting go?"

"Good. Really good, actually." I can't keep the grin off my face. "I put an offer in. Earnest money down and everything."

"Congratulations." And she means it. I can tell by the way her whole face lights up. "That's exciting. Which house?"

"The Craftsman on Maple. You know the one? Blue shutters, wraparound porch?"

"Oh, I love that house," she says, setting down the glass she was cleaning. "Mrs. Henderson lived there forever. She used to make the best apple pie. She'd always bring them to the Girls Club where I stayed after school while Mom got her shit together."

"Well, hopefully I can live up to her legacy," I say. "Though I should warn you, my pie-making skills are pretty much nonexistent."

"I'm sure you have other talents," she says, and there's something in her voice that makes my skin warm.

"What can I get you?" she asks, all business again, but I catch the way she's looking at my mouth.

"Whatever beer you've got on tap is fine."

She pours me a Bud Light and slides it across the bar, our fingers brushing when I take it. It's barely a touch, but it’s enough to send electricity shooting all over my body, and my cock against the fly of my jeans.

I watch her work, the easy way she chats with the regulars, how she remembers everyone's usual order without having to ask. When she comes back to my end of the bar, she's got that guarded look on her face again.

"You want another?" she asks, nodding at my nearly empty glass.

"Sure." But when she starts to pour, I reach out and gently touch her wrist. "Addie, wait."

She freezes, her eyes darting from my hand on her arm to my face.

"What are we doing here?" I ask quietly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." I let go of her wrist but don't pull back. "This thing between us. This tension. We both feel it."

She finishes pouring my beer with hands that are just slightly unsteady. "JT..."

"I know things are complicated. I know I left when I hurt my knee, didn't look back, and you're Malcolm's little sister."

Her cheeks flush as her eyes look around the bar. "I close in twenty minutes," she says quietly.

I nod, understanding that the serious part of our conversation is over for now. "I should probably head home anyway."

But I don't move. Neither does she.

"Addie," I say finally, my voice rougher than I intend.

"Yeah?"

"I need to know something."

She waits, her eyes locked on mine.

"What do you want? Do you want me to finish this beer, pay my tab, and go home to my parents' house like a good boy?

Or..." I lean forward, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

"Do you want to come out to my car with me when you're done here and let me kiss you the way I've been wanting to since the moment I saw you again? "

Her breath catches, and I can see her pulse hammering at the base of her throat. For a moment, I think she's going to tell me to leave. That this is too complicated, too risky, too much.

Instead, she leans forward until we're close enough that I can feel her breath against my lips.

"Just give me enough time to close up," she whispers.

I can’t fucking wait.