Truth or Beard Read online

  “What are you waiting for, dumbass? Go get her.”

  I stared at my brother and he stared back, giving me an excited, encouraging smile. And I saw what I’d been blind to earlier. Beau wasn’t interested in Jessica, not because she wasn't beautiful or amazing. She was. She was gorgeous. She was smart and clever. She was breathtaking. She was also too good for either of us.

  Beau wasn't interested in Jess because he knew how I felt. Of course he did. We were twins. He must’ve always known.

  We exchanged a brotherly grin, and he punched me again. “Go on, get.”

  I nodded once then stood, toeing my boots off and pulling both my sweater and shirt over my head. I left everything but my pants in a pile on the ground, grabbed a still-folded blanket, then sprinted into the woods after Jessica James.

  I was always running after her, but this time I wasn't going to let her get away.

  CHAPTER 4

  “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

  ― Lao Tzu

  ~ Jessica ~

  I’ve never been a liar. I’m not that creative and I lack the energy required. I’m not even very good at lying to myself. That’s probably why I currently felt like my brain was being torn in two.

  I didn’t like that I wanted Duane Winston, but there it was. He’d done something to me, awoke some slumbering feminine feral creature, and now I was pathetic with thinking about him. And it wasn’t just wanting his kiss, his touch, his body, and maybe even a bit of his sassy back talk. I was thinking about him and our interactions growing up and all the countless hours we’d spent in each other’s company not getting along.

  To make matters even more muddled, whatever he’d done to me backstage at the community center had apparently miraculously broken the Beau-spell—at least for the night. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing. On one hand, I’d always known my feelings for Beau were based on an unhealthy and unrealistic infatuation.

  On the other hand, at least Beau had been nice to me. No sassy back talk from Beau Winston—only friendly smiles, honesty, and kindness—which was why I’d hero-worshipped him for so long.

  But now…almost nothing. When Beau had found me in the dark and told me who he was, the first thing I felt was disappointment he wasn’t Duane. No music only I could hear. No reducing me to a blubbering, slurring Swahili speaker. Just disappointment.

  How that was even possible after twelve years of obsessive behavior made me question my mental health. Likely, I should have been questioning it long before now.

  I slowed my jog to a walk, guessing that the edge of the lake was nearby and cursing myself for not bringing a flashlight. The short run was good, but not enough. It had expelled merely a modicum of the restless energy coursing through my system, making me feel fried, dried, and crispy.

  The problem was my brain was tearing in two because my feelings for Duane were not consensual.

  Did I want to feel like a jealous, raging, seething she-witch when Duane had kissed my sexy bee cousin, who also just happened to be his ex-girlfriend, and a smokin’ hot stripper?

  No. No, I did not. I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted to feel nothing. But I didn’t feel nothing. I felt like he’d reached inside my chest, closed his fist around my heart, and was slowly squeezing it. I also felt like plucking the wings off Tina’s costume.

  He’d kissed her. He’d kissed her just like he’d kissed me. Obviously Duane made a habit of kissing the hell out of women, all women. That’s probably why he was such a good kisser. Lots and lots of practice.

  This was the thought circling around and around my brain. The image of them, of his mouth moving against hers, was branded in my vision, making my insides cold, and eclipsing my ability to reason.

  My first instinct had been to march over to them and pull them apart by the nose. I’d seen my mother do this once to my cousins when they were fighting. She’d put her index finger in one nostril of each of their noses and tugged them apart. They’d never fought at our house again. All she had to do was wiggle her index fingers in the air. Tina would have known what it meant.

  I slowed my pace further, not sure if the sensation beneath my feet was cold damp, or just cold. Three steps later I realized it was cold damp. I’d reached the edge of the lake. I turned, my hands out, and walked a few steps back to the last tree I’d passed and leaned against it, waiting for Duane to show up.

  I heard his footfalls, not too far off now. His approach made my insides tense in a delicious and disquieting way. I balled my hands into fists and squeezed my eyes shut, giving myself a mental talking to. Despite the fact it was near forty degrees, I was not cold. In fact, my skin and my lungs and my belly felt like they were on fire. I guess anger, intense aggravation, and frenetic lust will do that to a person.

  I needed time, I needed distance.

  We’d just kissed less than five hours ago. I was being stupid. Feeling territorial about Duane Winston made no sense. I wasn’t in Green Valley for the long haul, I was here to pay off my student loans, gain teaching experience, and then move on and out and see the world.

  One does not make life-altering decisions based on a single, solitary make-out session, especially when I’d been kissing Duane thinking he was Beau.

  Maybe, I reasoned, Duane wasn’t a great kisser. Maybe I’d built the whole thing up because I’d been working under a mistaken identity misconception.

  I told myself that these bizarre cravings would disappear just as quickly as they’d encroached upon my sanity. I told myself that tomorrow everything would be back to normal. Duane was irritating, challenging. Beau was nice. Even if my obsessive crush for Beau never resurfaced, my strange surge of feelings for Duane were likely fleeting.

  I had a plan and my momma hadn’t raised me to be stupid. End of story.

  “Jess…”

  I stiffened at the whispered sound of my name and was surprised to find him so close. Standing straighter, I turned, offering him my profile. I must’ve been so lost in my head I didn’t hear his final approach.

  “Hey,” I whispered back, then frowned, glancing at him. “Wait, why are we whispering?”

  He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked slowly forward and reduced the space between us. I could tell by his outline that he was shirtless. This revelation elicited a barely contained moan because, dammit, I wanted to touch him again.

  I turned completely just as he stopped two feet from my position.

  He blurted, “Jess, can we…can I…?”

  I listened as he abruptly paused then released a loud breath; he sounded frustrated. I couldn’t see his face so I had no idea what his intentions were or what he was thinking. I waited a beat for him to complete his thought. Five seconds turned into twenty, the quiet broken only by owls hooting in the distance, the wind through the trees, and the gentle lapping of the lake against the water’s edge.

  I sensed that he moved, and a moment later I felt his hand brush against mine. Already taut with nerves and my continuing internal boxing match, I flinched away from his touch, mostly because it was unexpected.

  At my involuntary reaction he shifted a step back and pulled his hands through his hair. I don’t know why I felt embarrassed, but I did. Maybe because I wanted to grab his hand, not recoil from it. But then, how pathetic was I?

  He’d just kissed another girl—one he had history with and might be dating—right in front of me, no more than ten minutes ago.

  Less than five hours ago, he’d pretended to be his brother and I’d held his penis in my hand. I’d stroked it for hootenanny’s sake! I’d given him a penis stroke under false pretenses. I should be running in the opposite direction. Instead I was girl-stupid for a guy who thought I was a brat.

  He was right, of course. I was a brat sometimes. But I didn’t want him to think I was a brat.

  I cleared my throat, sought the steadiness of the hemlock tree at my back, and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

  I reached for the h
em of my dress and pulled it over my head, folding it for no reason in particular and placing it at the roots of the tree. Next I unclasped my bra, hesitated for just a split second, then dropped it on top of the dress.

  At this point I stopped because I heard the sound of Duane undoing his zipper and my belly filled with lava. Hot, hot, hot molten lava. My body tensed and braced. I didn’t realize it at first, but I was holding my breath. I strained my ears and listened as he pushed the fabric of his pants down to his ankles, then bent to remove them completely.

  He was now naked.

  Meanwhile my thumbs were hooked in my panties, and now I was a frozen, chaotic river of lava. I wasn’t sure if I was actually capable of movement while Duane was naked. It felt…dangerous.

  He cleared his throat and I saw by his outline that his hands were on his hips. “You can leave your underwear on, if you want.”

  I’ll admit, I was staring at the region of his pelvic area before he spoke, hoping against hope that my untapped superpower of night vision would suddenly reveal itself. Alas, it was too dark and all I saw was shadow. I tore my eyes away from his midsection and lifted them to his face. I could just make out the stars reflecting his glittery eyes.

  I shook my head, expelling my breath, his offer spurring me into movement. “No, you said skinny-dipping. I don’t want you crying foul later.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  I made no response.

  “Jessica, I wouldn’t,” he pressed.

  “I don’t believe you,” I countered quietly, giving him my back as I pulled my underwear down my legs, laying them on the rest of the pile.

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Though I couldn’t see well in the dark, I suspected he could see just fine. This thought drove me suddenly forward, toward the lake, my arms covering my breasts. I made it to my stomach before I stopped, trying to catch the breath driven out of me by the abrupt, icy submersion. The lake was colder than a witch’s tit, and I was now freezing. My body gave a convulsive shake and my brain screamed, What are you doing?? Don’t you know this lake is near freezing? You’ve lost your mind!

  All that molten lava of confusion and upheaval had been replaced with survival instinct and repulsion for the frigid water. I guess it’s true what’s said about cold showers.

  The sound of a splash and a string of curses signified Duane’s foray into the water. I urged my feet to move, but they wouldn’t. I was so cold. My teeth chattered and my shoulders shook.

  Then I felt him behind me, hovering. And when I say I felt him behind me, I mean his front was so close to my back I felt the heat of his skin. The water was a smidge warmer, though we weren’t touching.

  “Is this f-f-far enough?” I asked, annoyed with myself for being too much of a chicken to venture farther.

  “Jessica, I have to tell you something.”

  I bunched my shoulders, holding myself tighter. His hot breath spilling over my neck paired with the autocratic tone of his voice made me shiver.

  “Go right ahead. We got fifteen m-m-minutes to kill.”

  I felt the water around my stomach swirl just as he closed the remaining inches between us, his chest hitting my upper back, his groin my bottom. I stiffened then tried to move away, but one arm wrapped around my shoulders, the other around my ribcage above the water, holding me in place.

  “Jess, this lake is so fucking cold. Please just let me hold you.”

  “W-w-well, this w-w-was your idea.”

  “I know. And I don’t regret it, but shut up for a minute so I can tell you something.”

  I huffed. “Don’t tell me to shut up.”

  “Sorry—I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just I’m so cold I think I’m losing my mind.”

  If my teeth weren’t chattering so hard I think I would have smiled. “F-f-fine. Go ahead.”

  “Jess.” His fingers dug into my skin and his arms tightened on my body. “Tina and I aren’t together anymore. I ended things with her for good months ago.”

  I nodded stiffly, not wanting to acknowledge, even to myself, that these words pleased me.

  He continued, “Now, you and I, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

  I leaned into him, and admitted inwardly that I was very glad he’d decided to hold me.

  When he spoke next, his words were rushed and they sounded rehearsed. “You’ve never liked me much and I get why, I do. But we’re not kids anymore. You’ve been gone for four years, off to college, and now you’re back, doing good work at the school. You’re different, you’ve changed, and I’m different now too, a business owner. I think it’s time we call a truce and start over.”

  I blinked into the darkness, trying to process his words, and noticing suddenly—now that we were motionless—how the stars were reflected back at the sky by the surface of the lake. If we held perfectly still, it was like being in the center of space, stars above, stars below. I tilted my head backward unthinkingly and it fell against Duane’s shoulder, resting there as I gazed at the heavens.

  It took him about a half minute, but then he dipped his head and pressed his cheek against mine.

  “I’m glad you agree,” he whispered into the silence, apparently taking my small action as agreement. His lips moved against me as he spoke, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of my neck.

  Despite myself I laughed lightly, because even though I was freezing, I could appreciate the bizarreness of the situation. Here I was, standing in a near-freezing lake with Duane Winston, oddly enjoying myself. The last time we’d been alone together in a body of water, it was the river behind his house over the summer of my fourteenth year. I’d de-panted him and thrown his swimsuit in a tree. Now we were both de-panted and freezing.

  Nothing about it made any sense. I needed it to make sense, so I asked him to explain it to me.

  “Duane, you remember when we were kids? And we used to argue about everything? I mean, it didn’t matter what it was. If I said the sky was blue you would say it was purple.”

  “Sometimes the sky is purple. Right now it’s indigo, almost black. You can’t just make a unilateral statement that the sky is blue.”

  “See? This is what I’m talking about. I don’t know if we can call a truce. All we know how to do is argue.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Jessica,” he whispered, “arguing with you is one of my favorite things to do.”

  My heart set off at a gallop and my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t his words so much as how he said them, all soft and sincere. I had to blink several times to keep from melting against him. How it was possible for me to melt when I was surrounded on three sides by near-freezing water made me again question my mental fitness.

  I cleared my throat and endeavored to stay focused. “One of your favorite things to do? You mean like playing practical jokes on me? I think you’re trying to rewrite the past.”

  Again, I felt his small smile on my skin. “You liked playing jokes on me, too. Don’t deny it.”

  Without really meaning to I found myself grinning and reminiscing. “I liked your reaction to the jokes, like that time I switched out the cake part of your strawberry shortcake with a sponge and you took a bite.”

  “Or how about the time you tricked me into thinking you were eating flies?”

  I giggled. “That’s right, I’d forgotten about that. Best use of raisins ever. And you were so grossed out, I thought you were going to throw up.”

  We were quiet for stretch, perhaps both lost to our memories of each other. It occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t trying to rewrite the past. Maybe he was encouraging me to see our shared history in a new light.

  I was speaking my thoughts before I realized words had left my mouth. “I loved how you’d lose your temper and threaten me with retribution.”

  “Exactly. And I always kept my promises.”

  “Yes, you did…”

 
; We were quiet again, the sound of gently lapping water against the embankment our only companion. But then his hands slid lower, grazing my hips, and providing just the right amount of sobriety.

  I shook my head and leaned a fraction of an inch forward, clearing my throat before speaking my mind. “If we did start over, why do you even want to be friends with me? Didn’t you call me a brat earlier?”

  He nodded and his arms shifted, which made his hold feel more like a hug. “Yeah, I called you a brat, because you were acting like one.”

  I grunted my irritation. “I wasn’t the one who lied and I’m allowed to be angry. I don’t know,” I stopped, swallowed, and debated my next words before continuing, “I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you.”

  “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m not sorry.”

  “You’re not sorry?” My voice sounded loud and screechy to my ears and I gritted my teeth. Despite being surrounded by frigid temperatures, my blood pressure spiked.

  “Nope. Not sorry we kissed.”

  I laughed again, but this time it was because I was peeved. “So you’re telling me you’re not sorry for making me think you were Beau?”

  He shrugged, nuzzled my neck, warming me. My brain told me to stop him, but my body vetoed, To hell with pride, I’m freezing!

  At length he said, “I never said I was Beau and you didn’t ask.”

  I opened mouth and a small sound of incredulity escaped. “You’re unbelievable.”

  He ignored my statement. “And I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “You don’t want to be my friend? Then what are we talking about?”

  “We’re talking about starting over.”

  “To what purpose?”

  He hesitated for just a second then he said, “Because we should see each other more often. I think we’re suited.”

  I wasn’t surprised.

  I was flabbergasted.

  I was sure I must’ve heard him wrong.