Forbidden Crush Read online

  The trees spread out and then the road opened up into a clearing. A wide brick wall stretched to my left and right, an archway with a metal gate in the middle. Hawk’s bike was parked next to the wall, where a faded sign said, Eastland Cemetery.

  Oh, I thought. He wasn’t bringing flowers to a date at all.

  I moved as quietly as I could toward the gate, which was difficult to do on the gravel road. Using the wall as cover, I slowly leaned my head around the side to peer through the gate.

  The cemetery wasn’t very large, maybe 80 feet wide and just as long. Most of the headstones were old, ruined pieces of stone. Like teeth that had been worn down over the years. Hawk stood in the middle of the cemetery, crouching down to a newer headstone of black marble. He placed the flowers carefully, stood back up, and then bent down again to reposition them. Leaning against the stone just right.

  It was shocking to see a hardened, tattooed guy like Hawk in such a tender moment. My heart went out to him for whatever loss he was mourning.

  Then my curiosity turned to guilt in my throat. I was interrupting a private moment. He must come here often since I’d seen him just the other night. He probably came at night so he could be alone. And I was invading that privacy.

  I turned to go, but my hand knocked loose a fist-sized rock from the wall. It thudded to the ground.

  Hawk whirled and pulled something from his side. A gun, aimed in my direction. “Show yourself or I start blowing holes in that brick wall,” he shouted.

  I showed myself immediately, hands in the air as I stepped out from behind the wall. “It’s me. Just me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

  His hand went back to his hip. Putting the gun away, I realized a second later. “Well?” he called. “Are you comin’ over here or not?”

  I was tempted to turn and sprint back to the diner. Instead, I numbly walked through the gate and into the cemetery, full of embarrassment and shame. Hawk crossed his arms over his chest and watched quietly until I was right in front of him.

  “Had to disturb my peaceful moment, didn’t you?” He sounded disappointed, but not angry. It was like he was too exhausted to be angry.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice. “If I had known…”

  “Well?” He gestured at the grave. “Take a look. Might as well while you’re here.”

  I turned my head to obey. The black marble made it difficult to read at night, so I had to lean down and squint.

  Theresa Alexandra Hawkins

  Born: March 1, 1994

  Died: March 19, 2019

  All the missing pieces about Hawk clicked into place. The cryptic things he’d said about Sid taking things from him. Why he couldn’t bring himself to leave this town. Why he stared at Sid not with fear, but with hate. Like a man who wanted revenge.

  “The tattoo on your arm,” I said softly, touching the digits. 3194. March 1, 1994. Her birthday. “Sid killed your sister.”

  “Yeah,” Hawk said, voice choked with grief. “He did.”

  “Oh, Hawk…”

  “I quit the Copperheads. Right after that, someone stole all that drug money from Sid. Shitty timing for me, leaving about the same time his stash goes missing. Sid gave me a few idle threats. A big show of force, like when we were picking up trash yesterday. Trying to scare me. He even had the sheriff plant some weed in my truck so they could bust me for that, which is why I’ve got community service. But it was all minor shit. I thought Sid was fishing for evidence. Trying to get me to confess. I…”

  He shook his head and stared off. When he turned back to me there was a glimmer in his blue eyes.

  “He went to Theresa’s house without any kind of warning. I don’t know what he originally intended. Maybe he just wanted to scare her. But my sister keeps a shotgun next to her bed, and when they busted down the door… It got ugly, and… They ended up…”

  He trailed off, unable to say the words. He looked away again so I couldn’t see his tears.

  My heart melted for him. There was a lifetime of pain in his tone, more than any man should have to endure. I wanted to hug him until it hurt, and kiss the tears from his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too, Peaches. Me too.”

  I went to him, embracing him with warmth and love. He lowered his defenses and hugged me back tighter than I expected. Just a sad soul clinging to someone else in their time of need.

  Then the defenses went back up and he pulled away. “We can’t. Especially now that you see what they’ll do.”

  I put my hand on his chest. “There’s nobody around, Hawk. It’s okay.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said bitterly. “You don’t know what Sid’s men see. One mistake is all it takes and you’ll end up like her, just another dead woman thrown at my feet by a man too high to know which way is up.”

  “I’m not scared,” I said, stepping closer. “Not around you. You fill me with courage.”

  He shook his head and refused to meet my gaze. “Then you’re dumber than I thought.”

  “Maybe so.”

  I kissed him. It wasn’t the passionate kiss from earlier today on the grass with our bodies pressed together. This kiss was soft and warm, a kiss meant to heal his wounds. And judging by the way his muscles relaxed underneath me, the tension fading away like the dying light at dusk, it worked.

  When we were done, he leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. I rubbed my hands up and down his arms.

  “Don’t you feel better now?”

  I felt his smile in his cheeks. “A little bit, Peaches.”

  “Good,” I whispered, feeling something massive settle in my chest. “I’m glad.”

  He took a long, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. His breath stirred the hair back from my cheeks. “You’re special, Charlotte. Special in a way I can’t explain. I want…” He shook his head. “But now you know why I can’t get close to someone. It’s too dangerous. I can’t… I just can’t deal with the guilt of that happening again. It would destroy me.”

  “I understand,” I said, though it killed me to say it.

  “Thank you for not fighting me on this.” He brushed back a strand of my blonde hair.

  “If things were different…” I began. I wanted to hear him say more. It was what I’d needed to hear.

  “But they’re not,” he said. “Maybe in another life, Peaches.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Hawk bent back to the grave and ran his fingers along Theresa’s name, tracing the letters chiseled into the stone. Then we walked to his bike hand-in-hand so he could drive me back to the diner.

  Neither of us saw the Copperhead watching from the trees.

  17

  Charlotte

  The days began blending together during my stay in Eastland.

  We spent two more days at Judge Benjamin’s house, first finishing the fence and then pulling weeds around the perimeter. After that were three straight days fixing potholes around Eastland, using cheap bags of cement mixed in a wheelbarrow and poured into the holes until it was flat. Hawk complained that the cement would crack in the heat and the town would have to fix them all over again in a few months, but Mindy only shrugged and said that she didn’t make the list, the judge did.

  We worked through the weekend, which made me happy since I just wanted to get my hours completed as quickly as possible.

  Now that things were out in the open with Hawk, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. We chatted about anything and everything. Music, movies, sports. Which parts of Georgia were worth visiting (Savannah) and which should be skipped entirely (Macon). Hawk had some surprisingly passionate opinions about modern art. We were like college roommates, pressed into each other’s company every day and forced to get to know the other person. And we both liked who we’d been matched up with.

  We flirted, too. A comment here, a dirty joke there. I made the mistake of stretching my arm and saying, “I’m really tight today.” I was
talking about my muscles, but Hawk only smiled and said, “I’ll bet you’re tight every day, Peaches.”

  I spent the rest of the day blushing after that one.

  But our flirting was lighthearted and innocent. Part of just passing the time. Hawk couldn’t be with anyone, and I respected his decision.

  But it didn’t stop me from dreaming about him.

  The dreams were getting worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it. Hawk didn’t just spread my legs on the bed and eat me out. He bent me over the chair and pumped me until I was screaming with ecstasy. He straddled my face and filled my mouth with his manhood while rubbing my sex with his calloused fingers. He took me in the shower, slowly and passionately while the water ran over our slippery bodies, and when it came time to come his kiss silenced my cries.

  I woke each morning with my sex swollen and wet. I couldn’t get him out of my head.

  Just two more weeks, I thought to myself. Starting a countdown wouldn’t help the time pass faster, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed a way to keep my mind off Hawk.

  It got harder—no pun intended—when we started texting.

  The first one was innocent enough one evening:

  Hawk: Mindy’s got fresh cinnamon rolls at the diner. She only bakes them once a month, so you’d better grab one while you can

  Me: UGH, that’s tempting but I just ate a Snickers bar that cost me $3 from the motel lobby.

  Me: I would much rather have a cinnamon roll! Maybe I’ll get one in the morning before we work.

  Hawk: I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t gonna be any left in the morning

  He was right—they were all gone by morning. Mindy shrugged and told me I needed to be faster next time. There won’t be a next time, I thought, checking the mental countdown clock in my head.

  But over time the texts got more casual, and more personal.

  Me: There’s a dude on channel 3 who looks just like you!

  Hawk: Devilishly handsome and hung like a horse?

  I blushed at my screen, and wondered if he was bragging or just making a joke.

  Me: He’s cute, but they don’t exactly show full-frontal nudity on the evening news.

  Me: Turn it on and you’ll see what I mean. He’s got numbers tattooed on his arm just like you

  Hawk: I don’t have a TV

  Me: Weirdo

  Then the texts started to… escalate.

  Hawk: Whatchya up to tonight, Peaches? Anything fun?

  I had just finished getting ready for bed: brushing my teeth, changing into pajamas, and rubbing moisturizer all over my face. But that wasn’t very sexy, and the words on my phone were tempting me to have some fun.

  Me: Why do you ask, Nosy McNoserson?

  Hawk: Just making conversation with my favorite community service partner.

  Me: I’m taking a nice, relaxing bubble bath.

  Hawk: Damn, Peaches. Now you’ve got my mind wandering.

  Me: Oh? What’s so exciting about a naked woman taking a bubble bath?

  Hawk: All of it. Every word in that sentence. Even the punctuation.

  Me: Taking a bath is part of getting clean. There’s absolutely nothing sensual about it.

  Hawk: That’s a lie. You want to send me a picture?

  Grinning to myself, I did consider it. But only for a second.

  Me: Sorry, but you’ll just have to use your imagination.

  Hawk: Oh, I am.

  Me: What are you imagining?

  The text message bubble remained for a long time as he typed it out. I stared at the screen and waited with bated breath.

  Hawk: You’re lifting a leg out of the water, letting the bubbles slake off you like a sexy waterfall, revealing the smooth skin of those sexy legs. You stretch the leg, toes curling like you’ve just gotten a really good kiss. The kind of kiss that leads to more. Your hand slides over your wet skin, up your beautiful tits and across a hard nipple. They look perfect this way, with you reclining against the tub and glistening with moisture. Your hand caresses your gorgeous face, leaving a trail of moisture across your plump lips, and then your hand is sliding back down. Over the mounds of your breast, across your cute little belly button and dipping underneath the water, and then…

  I bit my lip and my chest was heaving as I waited for the rest.

  Hawk: …and then you pull your phone out of the water, snap a nude selfie, and send it to your totally platonic friend Hawk.

  I’ll admit that it gave me a really good laugh. But I wasn’t the kind of girl who sent nudes to a guy she barely knew. Even a ridiculously handsome one she’d already kissed.

  Me: My phone isn’t waterproof. Next time do your research before sending a girl a sext message.

  Hawk: That wasn’t a sext.

  Hawk: You’ll know when I send you a sext.

  Me: Please elaborate.

  Hawk: Sure, in exchange for a photo.

  Me: I asked you first!

  Hawk: That’s how this works, Peaches. I give you something, you give me something. And the way I see it, right now you owe me a selfie.

  I considered something sarcastic, then something more flirty. Indecisive, I stuck the phone above me and took a selfie of my smiling face. Just my face.

  Hawk: As much as I like your smile Peaches, that’s not the selfie I was hoping for

  Me: Should’ve been more specific.

  We didn’t talk about the texts at all the next day. I brought him a coffee, he gave me a sandwich, and we went about our community service while pretending it hadn’t happened.

  But I noticed him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and I found myself smiling at the back of his head.

  That night, while I watched my cylinder-shaped burrito spin in the microwave, I got another text.

  Hawk: How about that selfie, Peaches?

  Hawk: A sexy selfie. None of this smiling-for-your-school-photo bullshit

  Me: You first, hot stuff.

  Hawk: What, you want a dick pic?

  Me: Sure. Show me what tattoos you’ve got going on down there.

  Hawk: Hate to disappoint you, but there’s no ink on my junk.

  Me: Prove it

  I took my burrito out of the microwave and carried it over to the little table in my room. I nibbled at it slowly, savoring the shredded chicken and creamy cheese sauce inside, but there was no response from Hawk. I wondered if I’d pushed it too far, or if I should have given him a shot of my cleavage first.

  Then the text message came in.

  It was a photo taken from the top-down, with Hawk’s bare feet in the background. He wore tight grey boxers with a white elastic band, which hugged his muscular thighs. In the center of the frame was the bulge of his manhood underneath his boxers. It ran horizontal toward his left thigh, and was thick. Not quite the girth of a roll of cookie dough, but thicker than a tube of toothpaste.

  I realized I was holding my breath, so I let it out slowly. My heart pounded and I was out of breath like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster.

  Hawk: How’s that, Peaches?

  I put my burrito down and considered what to send back. I started to respond that the photo didn’t prove whether or not he had tattoos on his junk, but then I deleted it I typed something else instead.

  Me: This photo is satisfactory.

  Hawk: Satisfactory? It’s just satisfactory?

  Me: It’s a solid C+. Passing grade.

  Me: I accept extra credit, though ;-)

  Hawk: Alright, Peaches. Time to show me yours.

  I took my time finishing my burrito while contemplating what to send him. Then I stripped my jeans and panties, swapping them for a fresh pair of boy shorts. Turquoise with little white ocean waves on them, which I’d bought at a surf shop in the Outer Banks. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror examining and adjusting myself, pulling the boy shorts up into the crack of my butt to show off how round it was.

  I snapped a dozen photos, chose the best one, and then sent it
to Hawk.

  My body tingled with excitement the moment I hit send. I wasn’t the kind of girl who sent scandalous photos to guys I didn’t know. Even a reasonably innocent photo without any nudity made me feel like I was being bad.

  But being bad felt so good.

  Hawk didn’t respond at first. In fact, he didn’t respond at all. With each passing minute I grew more self-conscious about the photograph. Had I gone too far? Was he waiting for more? Or did he not like what he saw?

  Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Me: I guess you’re not a butt guy, huh?

  Hawk: Sorry Peaches. That ass is so fine I think I went into a coma for a few minutes

  Hawk: I chose the right nickname for you after all. That shit is juicy.

  I grinned to myself the rest of the night.

  The next day was like the previous one, where we both pretended like nothing had happened. But the way he called me Peaches had a slightly different tone than normal.

  Between the monotonous community service work, the microwave burritos, and the increasingly scandalous text messages with Hawk, I was settling into a nice groove during my time in Eastland.

  Until Tuesday.

  That’s when Scott called.

  *

  I was watching Netflix on my laptop in the motel room, waiting to see if Hawk would text me, when my phone rang. Momma was the only person who had been calling me, and it was about that time in the early evening, so I answered without looking at the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Charlie.”

  Hearing his voice, and his nickname for me, made me freeze. Something crawled around in my chest and then settled back down. The grinding of ignored emotions reawakening after a few days of slumber.