Laughing, he shook his head and slid his key into the ignition. “See? Just a ride. Nothing scary.”
She pulled the seatbelt into place, latching it gently, then tugged to make sure it was secure. He might decide to go off-roading and, since the doors to this stupid vehicle were rickety at best, she could fall out. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?!
“How’s your algebra class going?” he asked, confidently steering through the curving mountain roads. Their high school serviced several towns because the population up here in the mountains was nowhere near as dense as down in the cities. “I heard you have Mr. Dean. He’s tough, but good.”
She kept her eyes on the road, wondering if someone was going to jump out and scare her when he turned a corner.
“Algebra is fine. He’s interesting.”
Ryan chuckled and the sound pulled her attention back into the car. “I’ve never heard Mr. Dean called interesting before. But he is a good teacher. He helped me prepare for calculus, and I’m grateful to him.”
“Right,” she muttered, still cringing slightly in anticipation for…whatever he had planned.
He continued talking casually, asking about several of her classes, adding comments and gossip on the teachers too. But Cynthia couldn’t really respond with much depth because she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So, when they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the bar her family owned, she jumped out, eager to get her feet onto the gravel of the parking lot. Gravel was much safer, in so many ways, than being in vehicle, next to Ryan.
“See?” he pointed out teasingly before she shut the door. “Like I said, just a calm, easy ride home.”
Cynthia blinked, not sure what to say. He was right. He’d driven her straight home and she was in one piece. And she’d arrived significantly ahead of the buses, more than twenty minutes ahead because the bus driver had to stop in three other towns before finally getting to Minneville.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and hitched her backpack higher up on her shoulder.
“See you tomorrow,” he called through the open passenger window as he drove away.
Cynthia watched him go, not sure what to think. Never before had he missed an opportunity to do something devious. It was like a competition between the two of them. He kept finding more creative ways to surprise her and she had to dig deeper to find the calm she needed to hide that he’d gotten to her. Then she had to find a way to get back at him. It was a point of honor, in a twisted, demented sort of way.
Never mind that she felt more alive after an altercation with Ryan, which could be blamed on the adrenaline rush. Or that she felt a zing of excitement when he nodded acknowledgment of her expertise after she got back at him.
Dismissing him from her mind, she walked into the bar. “Hey Dad,” she called out as she dumped her book bag on the countertop in the kitchen. The bar didn’t open for a few more hours, so the chairs were still on top of the small, wooden tables and the smell of cleaning products filled the air.
Her dad peered out of the kitchen and smiled. “Hi there honey. You’re home early.”
She grabbed an apron and put it on, preparing for her afternoon chores, and stored her backpack under the cabinet. “I got a ride home,” she replied vaguely. Too many of their family meals had been spent with Cynthia venting to her parents about whatever prank Ryan had pulled on her or regaling them with her retribution. No way could she now tell her father that Ryan had given her a ride home.
“That’s good,” he smiled distractedly, obviously unconcerned. He pushed his glasses up higher onto his nose as he sifted through invoices for supplies.
“Did you call in the order for more of that light beer everyone’s asking for? The case you got last week sold out pretty fast.”
The defeated sigh told her that he’d forgotten to put in the order. Cynthia took pity on him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dad. Just call it in so that we have more this weekend. There aren’t that many tourists during the weekdays, so we won’t really need it until Friday evening.”
He nodded blankly, running his fingers through his hair. He was doing the monthly accounting, she realized. He hated anything associated with math. Fortunately, it was one of her favorite subjects and she enjoyed the challenge of getting the bar’s expenses into all of the right categories and summing up the profit and losses each month. Although, lately, there had been more losses than profits.
“Want me to do that?” she offered. “I know that you hate doing the accounting. And I enjoy it.”
He smiled at her over the rim of his glasses. “You sure you wouldn’t mind?” he asked.
Cynthia laughed. “Dad, if I have to choose between cleaning the bathrooms or doing the accounting, I’ll take the accounting any day.”
He stood up and dropped his pencil in relief. “You still have to clean the bathrooms, honey.” And he walked away.
Cynthia made a face, but then sat down and started sorting the bills. There were more than usual this time, and she noticed that several of them were past due. She called up her father’s supplier and ordered the light beer, and then, because she knew what other customers had asked for, she ordered several other options. All were bottled beer, so they would keep for a while if the customers didn’t want them again. Then she logged into her father’s bank account and started setting up the payments for each of the bills. When she saw the amount left over, she cringed.
“Dad, we’re really short this month. You have to stop giving away the beers to your friends.”
He walked in and stored the broom away. “What’s the point of having a bar if your friends can’t have a few on the house, honey?”
She groaned, knowing that her father’s group of friends continued to expand. Soon, the whole town would be in here drinking for free. She closed down the accounting system, and stored the laptop away. Her father had run this bar for a long time so he must know what he’s doing. Besides, her family always seemed to have the money for whatever they needed, although often not a lot left over.
A few hours later, customers started to filter into the bar. The sun had set, an automatic ending point to any fishing or hiking expeditions, unless one had camping gear. After the tourists were done with their day’s adventures, most people wanted to relax and unwind, lie about the fish they’d caught, and laugh about the one that had gotten away.
Cynthia quietly went upstairs to start her homework. Because she was under age, she wasn’t legally allowed to be in the bar during business hours, so she did her chores before they opened in the evening, and slipped away when customers started to arrive.
Her family lived in the small, two-bedroom apartment above the bar. Over the years, Cynthia had learned to sleep through most of the noise. It wasn’t an especially rowdy bar, but occasionally, some of the customers got a bit…enthusiastic. Although, during the week, the customers were mostly locals. It was a bit louder on the weekends when the tourists came through, but it still wasn’t too bad.
The apartment was relatively small, just two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a sitting room. But since it was just the three of them, the space wasn’t too tight. Besides, Cynthia had her own room and her own bathroom. What more could a teenage girl want?
An image of Ryan popped into her head and Cynthia froze, horrified at where her mind had gone.
Ryan? She didn’t want Ryan in her life other than to see him fall on his face in a pile of mud. Yeah, that’s a good image. But in her life romantically? No way!
The following morning, Cynthia stepped out of the house, pulling up the zipper on her sweatshirt. September in the mountains gave the residents chilly nights and mornings, but the sun would warm up by the afternoon, reaching around seventy something degrees. Unlike the winters, which were nearly overwhelming because of the snow and bitter cold. There had been years the small mountain towns were covered in snow almost continually for six or seven months at a time.
But the crisp bite in the air wasn’t what s
tartled Cynthia. It was the muddy Jeep idling at the end of the steps to her parents’ place. Ryan?
“Come on, lazy bones!”
Cynthia peered suspiciously into the vehicle. “What are you doing here?” she demanded irritably. No way would she tell anyone about the dream she’d had last night. The dream where Ryan took her into his arms and kissed her. A completely pointless dream because she’d be a fool to ever let Ryan get that close to her. He’d just stuff something gross down the back of her shirt. Ick!
“I’m here to drive you to school.” He announced cheerfully and winked at her. “Unless you want to wait for the bus that sometimes shows up either in five minutes or fifteen.” He blew his breath through rounded lips, creating a cloud. “It’s pretty cold out.” He waved her into the car. “Come on. I know how you hate to be cold and I have the heater going.”
Cynthia frowned, wondering what slithering reptile would pop out to scare her.
But he only waved again and Cynthia gingerly opened the door. Looking around, she slipped inside. The Jeep really was cranking out the heat and it immediately dissipated the chill.
“Here,” he handed her a metal travel mug. “Coffee with a bit of cream and sugar. Just the way you like it.”
She took it and held the mug away from her body. “What’s going to jump out at me?” she asked.
He chuckled and put the Jeep into gear. “Nothing. I just thought you might like some coffee.”
She didn’t buy it. “Is there a bug at the bottom?”
Ryan shook his head. “Only coffee, cream, and sugar.”
Cynthia eyed the metal mug, then him. He looked hopeful and…something else. On anyone else, she might have thought he was nervous. But this was Ryan. Ryan was never nervous about anything.
Playing along, because she didn’t want him to challenge her like he’d done yesterday after school, she lifted the mug to her lips and pretended to take a sip. “Mmm… good. Thanks.”
He grinned, looking a bit more…relaxed? He turned onto the main road, heading to school. He talked about his classes and complained about his homework. Meanwhile, Cynthia watched his hands, which alternately gripped the wheel and flew through the air as he gestured. They were nice hands, she reflected. Long fingers. His nails were clean and neatly trimmed. Most local boys were out in the mountains so often that they constantly had the dirt under their nails. Ryan’s had no dirt at all.
And his forearms were…strong? Were those muscles hiding under the sleeves that were only partly rolled up? He had on a blue flannel shirt with a fleece vest, which matched his dark blond hair.
“You okay?” he asked, interrupting her perusal of his arms.
Cynthia jerked her eyes upwards. “Huh?”
He pulled into the school parking lot. “You were staring,” he pulled into his assigned parking space.
“I wasn’t,” she huffed as she reached for the door handle. He stopped her with a touch to her arm. “Hey, would you let me drive you home again this afternoon?”
Cynthia wasn’t sure what was going on. Deciding to be direct, she shifted slightly, turning to face him so she could see his eyes. “Don’t you have football practice?”
He smiled slightly. “Coach will want to be home with his new baby.”
She frowned, still concerned. “Yeah, but why me?”
He shrugged slightly. “We’ve always been at odds, Cyn. And I think it’s time to change that. Don’t you?”
Cynthia agreed, but she still didn’t trust him. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s possible. Not with our history.”
He thought about that for a second, still watching her with that oddly hopeful look in his startling blue eyes. “Can we try?”
She hesitated for another moment, wondering if maybe she could trust him. Was she stupid to even want to? Yes. But, just maybe…
“Fine. We can be friends. But....”
He grinned, holding up his hands. “I swear to you that I’m done with the pranks. I’m done with all of it. And…you’re really good with writing, aren’t you?”
She shrugged, not sure what to say. “I’m okay,” she finally replied. A couple of her friends were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for her. They’d noticed her in the Jeep with Ryan. Cynthia sighed, knowing that she’d have to answer roughly a hundred questions.
“Do you think you could look over one of my essays? I’m really struggling.”
Ah! That made more sense! He needed something from her! Relaxing now that she understood his motivation, she nodded and opened the Jeep’s door. “Yes. I can definitely read it. E-mail it to me and I’ll read it today.”
“How about if you read it with me during lunch? I’ll buy you lunch, to pay you back, and we can sit and go through it together.”
She considered his request for a long moment. Was she setting herself up? Dismissing that because, well, there was no way to anticipate what Ryan might do, she nodded instead. “Fine. I’ll see you at lunch today.”
With that, she slipped out of the Jeep. “See ya,” she said before slamming the door and hurrying over to her friends. All three of them leaned in, ready to demand answers as to why she was in the Jeep with the high school heartthrob.
Relieved now that she had an explanation, Cynthia shrugged off their curiosity, able to dismiss the conjecture. “He just needs help with an essay. He gave me a ride to sweet talk me into it. I’m going to read it over during lunch and offer him some suggestions. That’s all there is to it,” she told her friends flatly. Deflated, they stopped questioning her. But before she walked into her first class, she rushed into the bathroom and dumped the coffee out into the bathroom sink, watching the liquid swirl down the drain.
“Huh! No bug. No spider. Nothing,” she muttered in surprise, staring at the porcelain sink as if she couldn’t believe nothing weird had been added. Cynthia even looked inside, just in case there was a live bug clinging to the metal sides. Nothing.
Several hours later, Cynthia slid into the chair opposite Ryan in the school cafeteria. He’d chosen a table away from the other students and he’d piled a tray high with pizza, ice cream, fruit, and several other lunch options.
“I didn’t know what you like to eat for lunch, so I got some of everything,” he explained as she stared in bewilderment at the pile of food.
Cynthia wanted to laugh, but he looked so sincere, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She grabbed an apple and a slice of pizza. “This is great! Thank you.” She shifted her books to the other chair. “Okay, so where’s the essay?”
He took the banana and peeled it as he pulled several typed sheets of paper out from his books. “I hope you like it. But let me know if you have suggestions on improving the plan.”
Cynthia didn’t take the paper because her fingers were trembling too badly. She wasn’t sure why. This was Ryan, after all. Ryan, who pulled her braids in the hallway, just because he was walking by. Ryan, who liked to throw the football at her in gym class, chuckling when it made contact. Ryan, who grinned as she threw that same football into the woods, calling out, “Great arm!” before he’d run after the ball to retrieve it.
She read the title. “Changing the Playbook?” Confused, she looked at him curiously. “Is this a football essay?” she asked, trying not to judge. But…he was such a jock! Rumors were that he was really smart, but… still a jock.
“You’ll understand when you read it,” he tossed the banana peel neatly into the trashcan about ten feet away.
Cynthia was impressed primarily at how easily he’d nailed the shot. But also amazed that he’d already peeled and eaten the banana. Okay, the teenage male metabolism and all, but…he picked up a carton of milk and downed the contents in a single gulp.
Pulling her eyes away before she had to witness another three-point shot, she returned her focus to the essay.
A playbook is a way of life. It is the instruction manual one memorizes to get one through life, through every play, through each tackle, and every unanticipated maneuver of
the opposing team. But what happens when the real goal emerges? What happens to the old playbook when one realizes that the goal of teasing a girl has morphed into a realization that the boy is really trying to get the girl’s attention?
Cynthia jumped, startled. “What’s exactly is this?” she demanded.
“Keep reading,” he urged, no longer eating.
Cynthia warily moved on to the next paragraph.
A girl I’ve known since her first day of kindergarten…
She looked up again, swallowing. “You remember that day?” she whispered, shocked and…feeling a bit weird. That fluttering in her tummy meant…Cynthia didn’t know what it meant. This was Ryan. Seriously…Ryan!
He smiled faintly, a crooked expression that was somehow more endearing than the seemingly practiced, confident smile he usually wore around his friends. “Of course I remember that first day. You had your hair in a braid, wearing jeans with pink sneakers and a pink shirt. You looked so lost, hiding in the trees that morning. How could I ignore you?”
Cynthia smiled, warmed by his memory.
Instead of saying something, since she had no idea what to say, she kept reading.
…has grown into the smartest, prettiest, and most interesting girl in the entire school. And she doesn’t trust me in any way, due to my childhood behavior. Nor should she! I’ve been horrible to her for so many years that I can’t even list the number of stunts I’ve pulled on her.
So, how do I step out of the role of tormentor and ask her to start a new playbook, one where we’re friends? Or maybe even more? I’d like more, but I don’t know where to start.
Cynthia leapt to her feet, furiously pushing the essay away. “Nice try, Ryan. I’m not falling for it,” she snapped. Grabbing her book bag, she rushed out of the lunchroom before she really lost her temper.
This was just another trick. A stupid trick to get her to let down her guard! How stupid did he think she was? No way would she fall for that. An essay! Just because she’d won a writing contest last year didn’t mean he could mock her love of writing! What a jerk!
Second Chance Temptation (Sinful Nights Book 4) Page 2