Joy Ride: A Virgin Romance (Let it Ride Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “We both know you want Ian. There’s no shame in admitting to it. You’re like the rest of us.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest.

  “No, I’m not. Some of us refuse to give in to our worse impulses.”

  “And some of us deny they exist,” Kate snapped.

  “Enough.” Poppy stood, arms raised. “Time out.”

  “Fine, I should be going anyway.” I’d stop at Starbucks on my way to class.

  “Say hello to Ian for me,” Kate called.

  Sadly, I didn’t have a class with the professor today.

  ***

  “Guess what?”

  Good evening and welcome to the “Aren’t I impressive?” show.

  My father had started dinner with a reason to brag. I sat at a long table with my sister, her husband, and my parents. My parents lived in a ritzy co-op with a skyline view and a terrace.

  The hours had passed slowly today. I hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Ian, even though I spent most of the day strolling around the English building.

  “What?” my sister Elinor asked, playing along with my dad’s question.

  A word on my older sister—she was infuriatingly perfect, and always had been. I’d spent my whole life in her shadow. Let me tell you—it was a dark, cold place.

  Elinor had been the prom queen, a straight-A student, and class president. We both looked like my mother—long, dark hair, olive skin, big brown eyes. But Elinor was prettier than me—her mouth was a bit larger, her eyes nicely almond-shaped. And I swore she had glossier hair.

  To top it off, she graduated from Columbia with honors. Then went on to Harvard Law and joined a successful Manhattan law firm after she graduated. Elinor would make partner in a couple of years.

  Don’t get me wrong—I got good grades, but I’d never been popular. And I didn’t even go to prom or run for student government. And then I felt guilty about being jealous. Talk about a double whammy.

  “Yes, tell us.” Elinor’s husband, David Hampton, sat next to her. He was a successful plastic surgeon and looked like a GQ model—tall and blond, with big blue eyes, and gleaming, evenly spaced white teeth.

  They lived in a fabulous, photographable Chelsea condo, making them the world’s most photogenic pair. Her Facebook feed gave me hives—the sweet, sentimental vacation photos, candid snaps of the two of them furniture shopping together.

  “Tonight, I have a feeling we’ll be getting a lot of good news.” Elinor squeezed his hand, and they exchanged an odd, secretive smile.

  Okay, their fixation with one another had always been creepy, but this was a whole other level. What the hell was going on? But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I shoveled a forkful of ribeye into my mouth.

  “Ethereal Sand hit number one on the New York Times Bestseller list.” My dad lifted both arms like he’d just scored a touchdown.

  Everyone applauded—including my half-hearted clapping. It’d be easier to appreciate my father’s success if he didn’t expect the praise. And if he wasn’t so stingy doling it out.

  Did I mention how much I hated these dinners? Thank God, we only did one unbearable meal a month. I couldn’t figure out the point of these. Everybody was always on edge. And it always devolved into a contest. Sometimes, I wondered if I’d been adopted—I’m the only unexceptional person in my family.

  “Oh honey, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.” Mom smooched his cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

  He beamed.

  “I’m glad I made something special tonight for dessert.” She’d made chocolate mousse from scratch, and handed them around the table, along with steaming cups of espresso. “I found the recipe on a lovely little blog. If you like it, I’m going to add it to the menu for the literacy benefit this summer. Which brings me to some exciting news—I’ve been asked to chair the event.”

  In addition to managing the finances, and his fan club, my mother did high-profile charity work. It brought good publicity for my dad’s “brand” and was a tax write-off.

  “That’s wonderful, Mom. I can’t wait to try it.” Elinor took a bite. “Oh, it’s delicious.” She fed a spoonful to her husband, and they made yummy noises.

  Eww. I pushed mine away, appetite gone. At least I’m old enough to drink wine with dinner. I finished the rest of my Merlot.

  “Well, let’s keep the theme going. I’ve been asked to join a very lucrative private practice on the East Side, and I accepted,” David said.

  “And we have even more good news,” Elinor chimed in.

  Oh. Goody.

  “We’re pregnant.” She placed a hand on her stomach.

  Woah.

  My parents cheered, then rushed in to hug them, while I sat there in stunned silence, unsure of what to say. My head spun as I tried to wrap my brain around the news. While I’m thrilled to be an aunt, this news came out of the blue. I hadn’t known they’d been trying for a baby.

  And then everyone stared at me.

  “Darcy, say something.” My mother’s eyes widened.

  “Right, of course.” I smiled. “It’s fantastic news.” I awkwardly hugged my sister, then shook Daniel’s hand, because I didn’t know what else to do.

  “Darcy, do you have any news?” Mom asked.

  “Uh…”

  Nothing I could say would live up to anything they’d shared tonight.

  For a moment, a wicked thought occurred to me. What if I told the family about Ian? How their jaws would drop. Hey, if I couldn’t be the faultless daughter, I could embrace the role of underachieving black sheep.

  “Um, I’m getting good grades this semester.”

  “Terrific.” My sister gave me a cheery smile, with just a hint of smugness.

  So I smile-sneered back. And I hoped she gained a lot of weight with her pregnancy. Then had trouble losing it all.

  No one even noticed me the rest of the evening. My mom and sister were talking about onesies and breastfeeding. Eeek. My dad and Daniel discussed starting a college fund. So I embraced the role of the fifth wheel and sat there in silence.

  Afterward, I followed my father into his study. After dinner, he always tried to get in another thousand words on his latest manuscript. I stood awkwardly on the rug, while he typed away like he didn’t see me standing in front of him.

  I wanted to talk about For Love or Money but didn’t know how to bring it up. Maybe coax some helpful feedback out of him—a few pointers. And yes, I wished he’d at least acknowledged my achievement.

  “Hey, Dad, do you have a minute?”

  Alan glanced up. “Can it wait, Darcy? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  With a sigh, he shifted in his chair. “Okay, just give me five more minutes. I need to finish my thought.” And then he kept typing.

  “Sure.”

  I waited in humiliated silence, watching him. It was a good metaphor. More than anything, I wanted to be a published author, but I stood on the outside looking in.

  But what if I didn’t have any talent? What if I belonged at the university, teaching great works of fiction to others, but never writing one of my own?

  My throat ached and my vision blurred. I’d been fighting my fate, but maybe there wasn’t any point—I should surrender to it.

  Finally, he stopped. “What’s so important we need to talk right now?” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  There were so many things I wanted to say. Put your own ego aside for a few seconds and focus on me. Give me some encouragement. I need you to believe in me. No, I need you to care, at the very least.

  But the words wouldn’t come.

  “Nothing.”

  I left before he could reply because I’m such a coward.

  And I was left with a hurtful old saying stuck in my head—those who can’t do, teach.

  ***

  When I walked into my apartment, I smelled something delightful wafting from the kitchen—apples, cinnamon, and the hint of sugar in t
he air. Since I’d barely eaten anything at dinner, I was irresistibly drawn inside.

  On the counter sat a tray full of steaming cheese and apple Danish. Iris stood by the stove with an oven mitt on one hand.

  “You’ve been baking again.”

  “Yep. Try one—I tweaked the recipe.”

  She smiled. I hadn’t seen her look happy in months—at least someone had a decent evening.

  “You’re in a good mood.”

  “I am.” She nodded. “My day didn’t suck as much as usual.”

  “Glad to hear it—you deserve a break.”

  “I do, don’t I?”

  “Yes.” Then I took a bite of the pastry—it was delicious, as per usual. I gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Glad you like it. So how’s the fam?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you all about it, but I want to know what happened first.” I took a seat at the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

  “This guy stopped by the diner.”

  To make ends meet, Iris had a job at a greasy spoon down the street. It was a position in her field, so it added another line on her résumé, but I had no idea how she balanced all the coursework with an outside job.

  When we first became friends, it’d changed my view of privilege. Compared to Iris’s situation, my life had been comfortable. I really had nothing to complain about, even though I did anyway.

  “Which guy?”

  “Will’s brother.” She widened her eyes for emphasis.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I clenched my fists. “The family sent him over to… What? Bribe you? Threaten you? Do they think you’re going to ruin Will’s stupid wedding?”

  “No, he’s curious about me.” Her brows lifted. “And Jackson asked me out.”

  “What?” Out of all the things she could’ve said, I hadn’t been prepared for a date scenario. “Are you going?”

  “Of course not.”

  Iris said it far too fast as if she was hiding something. Hmm. Did she like what’s his name…Jackson? As far as I’m concerned, that gene pool was toxic.

  “Back up here. What’s he like? Because we don’t need Will Part 2.” I didn’t want her to get hurt again.

  “I know, and this is strange, but Jackson’s nothing like Will. If he hadn’t brought it up, I wouldn’t have known.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She placed a hand on the back of her neck.

  Hmm, he’d really gotten under her skin.

  “Sounds like you’re intrigued by him.”

  “I’m not.” Iris sponged imaginary dirt off the counter.

  “I see.”

  “Shush.” She placed a hand on her hip.

  “What? I didn’t say anything.”

  “Honey, your face is sayin’ plenty.”

  I didn’t have any room to talk. I was deep in denial about Ian. My Stepford-like sister wouldn’t even be tempted by him. Elinor wouldn’t go anywhere near Ian.

  “You should go out with him.”

  “That’s so not an option. I’m focusin’ on Paris right now. The last thing I need is another Archibald screwin’ up my life.”

  “Yeah, but you want to date him. So I vote, yes.”

  “Too bad you don’t get any votes.”

  “Why not?”

  “This is my life. Besides, getting involved with Jackson’s an awful idea.”

  “It’s a freaking great idea. Come on—he’s Will’s brother. Hello, revenge.”

  “I don’t want to settle a score with Will. I’d love to never think of him again.”

  I knew what she meant.

  Ian never strayed far from my thoughts, almost like I couldn’t help myself—it was a sickness. How would I feel when he was no longer in my life? Sure, I’d be his grad assistant next year, but what if I got another supervising professor? And eventually, I’d graduate and move on, anyway.

  The thought of not seeing him again made me physically ill. Now, if only I could get myself to stop walking any further down this dangerous path.

  Hmph, and when I’d been dishing out advice to Poppy, I’d made it sound easy, but it wasn’t. And I cared more about Ian than I was comfortable admitting.

  Like Iris, I didn’t have time for this kind of distraction. Pursuing anything outside of a professional relationship with Ian was stupid. It wouldn’t end well, and it might hurt both of our careers.

  Besides, I had a lot going on. I stood at a crossroads with a lot of big decisions to make.

  “You look pensive. What’s going on?” Iris asked.

  “I’m a mess. Lately, I’ve been questioning my plans. And I’ve been spending time with Ian…er, Dr. Sterling.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’m going to stop because it isn’t appropriate.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Yes! We hit pay dirt. Tell me more.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I’m going to be his GA next year, so we’ve had a couple of meetings. That’s it.” Mostly.

  Iris snorted. “Hogwash. If you’re just meetin’ with him, it wouldn’t be inappropriate. You’ve been going on dates—I can see it on your face.”

  “We’re getting to know each other better—for work purposes.”

  It sounded like a lie, even to my own ears.

  “I saw his faculty profile. Damn, girl, he’s sexier than socks on a rooster. And hey, no judgment. I’m still hung up on a guy who threw me over for a debutante.”

  “I’m not sure what footwear has to do with it, but yes, he’s attractive.” Every now and then one of her Southernisms didn’t make sense.

  “Oh, the plot thickens.” Her eyes danced with mischief.

  “Spending time outside of class with him is a mistake.”

  “Is it?”

  “Tell me it’s the wrong thing to do.” I just wanted confirmation so I could snap myself out of this foolishness.

  “I can’t. Besides, I’m not in the position to judge anyone. And I haven’t seen you this cheerful in…well, ever. It’s not ideal, sure, but what is?”

  “I guess.” I wasn’t convinced.

  “Okay, let’s talk about your grad school plans now.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about being an author. What if grad school’s the wrong path for me?”

  She mulled it over for a moment. “You have options, Darcy. If it doesn’t work out, you have family money to fall back on. Why don’t you go for it and see what happens?”

  “And you don’t.” Being wealthy afforded me more choices than most people.

  “No, I don’t, but I’m resourceful. I’ve got a plan A, B, C…hell, I even have a plan Z.”

  “I don’t know how you do it.” How could the Archibalds look down on her? Iris was amazing.

  She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a skill. And, for the record, I want the options you have for my own children. That’s why I’m going to college—why I moved all the way up here. You should take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “I know.” What she said made a lot of sense. “But why do I have this paralyzing fear?”

  “Because you always want to be perfect, but it doesn’t work that way. And who says this is an either/or choice? You could pursue writing and your grad program.”

  She was right, but I couldn’t scrape up much enthusiasm for getting my doctoral degree anymore.

  What a mess.

  Chapter Seven

  Ian

  I hadn’t seen Darcy in three excruciatingly long days.

  It felt more like years. I stood by the whiteboard, watching the clock, and killing time until class started. I hadn’t received a sick note, so I assumed she would attend my lecture.

  She’d actually missed a class this week—Darcy never skipped. Although she’d sent me a short, professional email stating she was “under the weather.”

  Something told me Darcy had been avoiding me.

  And could I blame her? No.

  I shouldn’t have kissed her cheek the other night. I hoped she gave me the chance to expl
ain, to apologize.

  Darcy always arrived early, then we chitchatted before class started. But a couple of other students trickled in before she arrived. Dammit, now I couldn’t speak freely.

  She didn’t walk into my class until the very last minute. Starved for the sight of her, I couldn’t help but stare.

  Darcy took a seat by the door as if ready to flee at any moment. And she didn’t make eye contact. I’d like nothing more than to order them all out so I could speak with her, but I had a job to do. So I started rambling on about romantic poets.

  At the end of the hour, I handed their essays back. On Darcy’s I’d scribbled a quick note—See me after class. A couple students lingered, asking questions about their papers. I answered their queries as fast as possible, then pushed them out the door.

  That just left Darcy.

  Finally. Alone at last.

  It was an evening class, and the building had emptied out.

  Now that I had her here, I fumbled for something to say. And I always knew the right words. Perhaps I should’ve written a few remarks down, prepared myself.

  “Hi.”

  We hadn’t seen each other in forever, and all I got was a “hi”? I didn’t trust myself to speak, afraid I’d give the game away.

  “You wanted to see me, Dr. Sterling?” she said.

  “I told you to call me Ian when we’re alone.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Darcy, if I made you uncomfortable the other day, please allow me to apologize.”

  “You didn’t. I…” She pinched her lower lip. “Never mind.”

  “So, we’re good, then?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “Uh…”

  “So we can make plans for next fall.” I should be appalled by my own actions. I behaved like a stalker or a sexual harasser. And yet I knew she had feelings for me—she wasn’t immune either.

  Darcy hesitated for a moment, opening her mouth then closing it. “Okay. Where? In the cafeteria downstairs?”

  “No, not on campus.”

  I wanted to be alone with her, somewhere discreet. Columbia was a surprisingly small place, especially for a professor.

  “Where, then? The French place?”

  “Yes.” I could wine and dine Darcy at Maison Rose, maybe even impress her. “What do you say?”