Just Folking Around: Good Folk: Modern Folktales, Book #0.5 Read online

  “Queen?”

  “Cunnilingus.” Please say yes!

  A sudden laugh burst from his lips, and he shook his head. “And if you lose your queen?”

  I didn’t think twice about lifting an eyebrow and saying, “Fellatio.”

  His eyes narrowed again, but I didn’t miss the spark of heat. “Bishop?” he asked, his voice full of gravel.

  I worked to hide the nervous energy clogging my throat and smiled sweetly, swallowing before leaning close to whisper, “Missionary.”

  Part IV

  “A wise girl kisses but doesn't love, listens but doesn't believe, and leaves before she is left.”

  Attributed to Marilyn Monroe

  He drove me to my hotel, walked me to my cabin, and left me at the door with a promise to return soon. I used the time to take a quick shower and change into black yoga pants and a white tank top. Since the good deputy had seemed mesmerized by the girls earlier, I decided to forgo a bra.

  True to his promise, he returned a half hour later bearing a platter of veggies, meats, cheeses, and a bottle of wine, explaining that he knew the owner of the hotel—or rather, what he called the lodge. The food was from the restaurant kitchen and the wine was from the cellar, both of which he’d apparently felt free to raid.

  He also had a chess board tucked under one arm and did not delay in setting up the game on the coffee table. In truth, until I spotted the chess board, I’d still been feeling uncertain about whether or not he actually wanted to be here with me tonight.

  The entire platter of food and two glasses of wine later, Vegas Chess was now my favorite game, and I was no longer in doubt of the deputy’s desire to stay. He wanted to be here. And the reason I knew for a fact that he wanted to be here was because he’d lost six pawns right off the bat, removing his jacket, shirt, tie, shoes, and belt, and grinned the whole time.

  His rook was lost shortly after, and the game paused as I jumped to my feet and crossed to where he sat on the couch. Straddling his lap, I placed my hands on the back of the couch and giggled like a loon. I had no idea why I felt so giddy. Probably the wine.

  “Are you ready to make out?” I whispered.

  He settled his hands on my backside and squeezed, massaging me through my yoga pants. I loved how his hands held my body, like touching me was so natural, and something he truly enjoyed. “Why are you laughing?”

  I grinned down at him, widening my legs and settling myself more fully on his lap. This made him clench his teeth, the muscle ticking at his temple. “I haven’t made out with anyone since high school.”

  “What?” His eyebrows jumped. “We just—I just—”

  “Oh, no.” I rolled my eyes. “I mean I haven’t just made out with someone since high school. Usually, I skip over all the good stuff and go straight to the other stuff.”

  “Like taking a queen or bishop?” He slid his hand up my back, using his fingertips to press me forward.

  “Exactly,” I said, my chin lifting as he sought my mouth. “Uh-uh. No kissing. Neither of us took a knight.”

  His gaze turned into a mock glare, his lips twisted as though to hide amusement. “All right,” he said, overpronouncing the t, and then shifted me to the side so he could reach the board. He picked up his queen and moved her diagonally until she captured my knight, leaving his most valuable piece exposed to both my bishop and a pawn.

  “Now come here.” He pulled me back in place and then cupped my cheeks with his large palms, his eyes zeroed in on my mouth.

  “Are you kidding? That was a terrible move. I’m just going to take your—Mmm . . .”

  I never finished the thought because he captured my mouth, his lips a hot press. My head swam, my toes curled, and he held me still, breathing in through his nose. I expected him to deepen the kiss right away, but he didn’t. He withdrew, his thumb caressing a line along my cheekbone before he returned for another press, angling his head to the side, playing with my lips.

  My fingers fisted in the front of his shirt and I arched my back, shifting restlessly on his lap, wanting more. Yet he still kissed me sweetly, retreating a mere millimeter to brush his mouth softly against mine.

  “You have amazing lips.” His voice, just above a whisper, made my chest feel hot and tight and the rest of me feel needy.

  I waited for him to add something suggestive like, I can’t wait to see them wrapped around my cock, because why else would he compliment my lips? But the expected statement never came.

  “They’re perfect,” he added, then nuzzled my nose before kissing me, pressing slightly harder. His hands returned to my ass, squeezing and massaging as his mouth moved and a grumbly sound reverberated in his chest.

  I felt him, between my legs. I felt the hard, solid length of him, and so I rolled my hips, making him gasp. He wrapped his arms around my torso and licked at the seam of my mouth, imploring me to open. Happily, I obeyed, groaning my pleasure as he gave me his tongue and I finally got to play with it. And oh, let me tell you—it was magnificent.

  We kissed and kissed and kissed, and I could not get enough of his mouth. Or his stroking hands. Or his strong arms. Or—when I finally had the presence of mind to lift up his undershirt—his stomach and sides. He felt so great, so great, and pretty soon my body took over, rocking against his concealed erection, searching for that lovely, exquisite friction.

  “Fuck, Raquel,” he said on a breath, lifting up my shirt to cup my breasts with both hands, the pads of his thumbs stroking back and forth over my nipples. “You are so fucking sexy.”

  Spikes of heat erupted all over my skin, little pinpricks, like an electric shock. “So are you, deputy.”

  “Jackson. Call me Jackson.”

  “Jackson.”

  “Wait—wait.” He removed his hands from my chest, sliding them to my hips and holding me still even as his hips thrust upward. “Wait. Stop. I need a minute.”

  I stopped moving, though his request confused me. Why take a minute? Why not just ask me to help him out? Did he not want to come?

  Pressing his forehead to mine, breathing hard, he gently cupped my jaw and sifted his fingers into my hair. Even though we were close, I could see he’d closed his eyes, scrunched them shut, his face screwed up as though in pain.

  “Jackson. Let me help,” I whispered, sliding my hands down the front of his body but not touching the button of his pants. The last time I’d made overtures, he’d withdrawn. I didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.

  He chuckled and exhaled a loud sigh. “I haven’t taken your queen.”

  I twined my arms around his neck and studied him. All night I’d been admiring his face for being handsome, for being real, but presently I decided I also just really liked his face. He had a great face. Everything about it was great. And I liked looking at it.

  “Do you want to keep playing chess?” I asked, my gaze lingering on the slight cleft in his chin, and then moving to the scrumptious fullness of his bottom lip. “Or do you want to do something else?”

  He opened his dark eyes and was now studying me in return. “What do you want to do?”

  Stay one more day.

  I stiffened, blinked, frowned at the completely unbidden and unexpected thought. “I—” I shook my head. “I—uh.”

  I couldn’t stay one more day. That would be absurd.

  “Do you want to play chess?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

  At his words, my heart took off, and I blinked rapidly. Stay one more day, Rae. What’s the harm in staying just one more day? Think of all you could do with this man if you had a whole day. Maybe we could go fishing!

  I snapped my mouth shut and swallowed. There was no way I could stay one more day. I had a callback this week for a part I really wanted. I had meetings and lunches and rehearsals. I had a one-night-only rule for a reason. I never stayed. And why on earth would I want to stay here? I didn’t belong here any more than I belonged in the town where I grew up.


  Untwining my arms from his neck, I leaned away and rubbed my forehead. “You know, I think I had a little too much wine.”

  “You want some water?” He dipped his chin, likely trying to catch my eyes.

  I climbed off his lap. “Yeah, I think I’ll go grab some. Do you want any?”

  “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

  I crossed to the bathroom but didn’t shut the door, giving myself a stern, silent, and self-deprecating come-to-Jesus talk in the mirror during the time it took to fill a water glass and drink it.

  Flipping off the light as I exited, I looked to the couch for Jackson, but I found him by the bed, buttoning up his dress shirt.

  My heart jumped to my throat and I jumped into action. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced at me, giving me an easy smile. “Getting dressed.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “But—but we didn’t finish our game.” I turned to the board and quickly claimed his queen with a pawn. “Ha! Look. You lost your queen.”

  His smile grew, but not by much. “You have an early flight. You should get some sleep.”

  I paced over to him but stopped myself from reaching out and grabbing his arm. “If you want to go, you should go. But I don’t want you to go if you don’t want to go. I’d—” I swallowed, for courage. “I’d like you to stay.” So much for not chasing my snacks.

  I caught myself, nearly frowning at the discordant thought, and assembled my features into a mask of friendly and flirty patience. And as we traded stares, I couldn’t help but think, This guy, he’s not a snack. Deputy James—Jackson—he was a meal. And not a Thanksgiving meal or a dinner party get-together. He wasn’t someone to be saved for special occasions. He was an everyday favorite. No matter how many times or how often you partook, you always looked forward to the next time.

  Jackson James is taco night.

  He stopped buttoning his shirt and placed his hands on his hips. “I’ll stay as long as you want,” he said, peering at me in an odd way, giving me the sense he was trying to read my mind.

  So I said what I was thinking, what I wanted. “I want you to stay all night. Why don’t you—if you want, you could spend the night? We still have the chess game to finish. And then we could . . . go to sleep?”

  Jackson’s eyelids flickered, his gaze dropping to my mouth. I held my breath, waiting for his answer. Please oh please oh please say yes. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stay in Green Valley for another day, but that didn’t mean he had to leave yet.

  Eventually, he gathered a deep breath and nodded, the side of his mouth pulling upward. “Okay. I’ll stay. We’ll finish our game, and then—” He stole a quick kiss, holding my gaze as he retreated. “We’ll sleep.”

  Jackson was asleep.

  For a while, I listened to him breathe, reveled in the feel of his warm, strong chest and arms bracketing my body, his hand on my leg, his leg between both of mine. A voice in the back of my head announced that if I actually fell asleep, this would be the first time I’d ever slept with someone.

  My flight left at 6:10 AM, which meant I needed to be up and out of here by 3:45 AM at the latest. So why sleep at all? I only had—I checked the clock on the nightstand—two hours left. Telling myself that staying awake made the most logical sense, I gently covered his hand and brought it to my chest, placing his palm over my heart.

  He didn’t stir, and his breathing didn’t change. I felt a little drowsy, but based on how quickly he’d succumbed to sleep, he must’ve been exhausted. I wondered how he’d spent his day prior to our introduction. Had it been busy? What time had he gotten up this morning? Did he have work tomorrow? I wished I’d asked.

  Wake him up. Ask him. This is your last chance.

  Or . . . maybe it wasn’t my last chance. Technically, since we hadn’t had penis-meets-vagina sexual intercourse, perhaps keeping in touch with Jackson wouldn’t break my one-night-only rule. Maybe we could—

  No.

  I gave my head a subtle shake. We’d finished our game. He hadn’t taken either of my bishops. If he’d wanted more with me, I’d given him every opportunity. We’d made out again—on the couch, on the bed—and then he’d gone down on me, saying it was only fair since I’d taken his queen, but his pants had stayed on the whole time.

  That’s right. He didn’t even take my queen—despite my flagrant attempts to put her in harm’s way—and neither of us had taken each other’s bishops. He didn’t give me an opportunity to swipe either of his priestly dudes, guarding them more diligently than even his king. Furthermore, he could’ve taken either one of my bishops several times. But he hadn’t.

  Why didn’t he take a bishop?

  I swallowed against a thickness in my throat, squeezing my eyes shut and sighing around an ache where his palm heated my skin. I was being silly, dumb. I didn’t even know this guy other than he was a sheriff’s deputy in a small town where his father was the sheriff, he looked good in a suit, and I would forever think of his tongue as the kraken. Also, he smelled fantastic and was easy to talk to and thought my lips were perfect and touched my body like it had been formed for his hands.

  But other than that? Nada.

  Stay . . .

  Stirring, I huffed, pushing the ridiculous thought from my mind and opened my eyes. I glared at the clock and then reared back a scant inch. It was already 3:25 AM. My phone alarm would be going off in five minutes. How? How had that happened? I must’ve dozed off. My stomach twisted and a nauseous kind of discomfort climbed up my esophagus.

  Shit.

  Releasing a shaky breath, I removed his hand from my heart. Once more I debated waking him. Would he want me to say goodbye? Would he care? He’d been so cool with me. So undemanding and straightforward. He seemed to have a good time.

  Worrying my lip, I disentangled myself from his body and skootched to the edge of the bed, turning to look at him over my shoulder after I flipped off my phone alarm, my heart pinging with a sudden and swift pain. Ugh.

  I wanted to wake him. I decided I would. I would wake him and ask for his number, so we could keep in touch, if he wanted. And if he turned me down, so what? So. What. So I’d be . . . sad.

  Pressing my lips together, I blinked back a rush of stinging moisture behind my eyes.

  I’ll be sad.

  I tore my gaze from his handsome face and rubbed my forehead. God, what was I doing? What was I thinking? A sheriff’s deputy? In a place named after a salad dressing? What? Hadn’t I been the one scoffing at Sienna’s choices yesterday during her lovely wedding? Yes. Yes, that judgy a-hole had been me. And nothing had changed.

  Absolutely nothing.

  So, no. I wouldn’t wake him. I would leave because that’s what we’d agreed. No strings. No problem. I’d forget him by tomorrow. Hell, I’d forget him by the time he woke up. He’ll forget me too.

  Spurred by that thought, I jumped from the bed and rushed to pack, swallowing convulsively because I must’ve been thirsty. For water. Whatever, it didn’t matter. When he woke up, I would be long gone.

  It didn’t take much for me to assemble my things. I’d brought only the bare essentials and they all fit in my backpack. I dressed quickly in the bathroom, careful to be quiet, and soon I stood by the door, gripping my bag, ready to go. Turning over my shoulder, telling myself I should do one last sweep of the room, my eyes immediately landed on the gorgeous man asleep in my bed.

  I still liked his face. A lot.

  Before I could question the instinct, I lowered my backpack to the floor and tiptoed to the bed. Once there, I placed a careful knee on the mattress and bent forward, bracing a hand next to his head. Staring down at him, memorizing the lines and angles of his handsome face—wishing I could see his eyes one last time—I lowered the remaining inches and brushed a soft kiss to his lips, inhaling deeply. And then I leaned back, waiting, telling myself that if he woke up, I would stay for another day. One more day won’t make a difference.

  I w
aited. I counted to sixty. Then I counted to one hundred and twenty. And before my heart could react in some overly dramatic fashion—like plummeting in disappointment or twisting painfully—I straightened and turned, returning to the door. Blindly, I reached for the handle and gripped it, not allowing myself to feel torn.

  Because I did need to go. There would be a car waiting for me by the entrance to the lodge. I had a flight to catch. I had a life in Los Angeles, a career I loved. We’d been on the same page from the start: No strings. No expectations. Just one night.

  Just fooling around.

  *The End*

  (for now)

  * * *

  Jackson and Raquel’s story continues in Totally Folked, read on for a sneak peek!

  Pre-order Totally Folked, coming July 20th, 2021!

  * * *

  Subscribe to Penny’s awesome newsletter for exclusive stories, sneak peeks, and pictures of cats knitting hats. Subscribe here: http://pennyreid.ninja/newsletter/

  Sneak Peek, ‘Totally Folked,’ book #1 in the Good Folk: Modern Folktales series.

  *Jackson*

  “Look your best—who said love is blind?”

  Mae West

  “Bad day, Jackson?”

  “Not at all.” I nodded once at Genie Lee, unconcerned that my smile resembled a grimace. She probably couldn't see much of my mouth, seeing as how I currently wore a lemon meringue pie on my face. I hadn’t taken the time to wipe much off, wanting to keep my hands as clean as possible should I have need to employ them.

  “Anyone I should keep an eye out for?” she asked my back as I jogged past and scanned Walnut Street for Deveron Lawrence Stokes Jr., or as his momma and everyone else called him, DJ.

  “No, ma'am. Have a nice day.”

  Genie Lee's chuckle followed me down the sidewalk and I shook my head, momentarily lifting my eyes to the heavens. I didn't mind the pie to the face, the discomfort ephemeral, hardly a blip on my radar. As far as embarrassing situations I’d experienced, this maybe ranked a one point five out of ten.