The World's Worst Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  That got his interest. “What was my reaction?”

  “You weren’t jealous at all. You just looked confused. Like you knew he wasn’t the right guy for me.” She paused. “And, of course, you were right.”

  ******

  With a happy heart, Callie spread out the quilted blanket so the delivery men could set the rusted and dented Chevy door on it. “This is amazing.” Since her article had gone out two weeks ago, she’d received lots of smaller items—as she’d requested—but nothing as big and interesting as this multi-colored door.

  She peeled off the scrap of paper taped to it and read the note.

  Fin couldn’t keep a damn job. I was always the breadwinner. When I came back from yet another business trip, I put my key in the lock and it didn’t turn. I looked through the living room window to find Fin on the couch with his pregnant girlfriend. Yeah, you read that right. Pregnant. He’d kicked me out—not just of my house, but of the life we’d built together. He had my car in the garage, my clothes, my furniture. And you know what? I let him have it. Didn’t want a single damn thing that reminded me of that five-year waste of a marriage. About a month later I saw my car parked outside my Ob/GYN’s office. I got my brother to come over in his tow truck and take off the door. It’s been in my garage for eight months, which means I have to look at it every damn day. So I’m giving it to you. Now I’ve got nothing that reminds me. I’m free.

  Callie smiled with a shake of her head. I’m free. She was glad for that woman. After signing for the donation, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bill, handing them their tip. “Thanks, guys.”

  Fin strode in, commanding attention in his worn black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a white T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. “When you heading out to see your Dad’s booth?”

  She tipped her head toward the seniors busy bringing her exhibition to life. “Soon as they’re done.”

  “I got someone I want you to meet. Let’s go now.”

  “I can’t just leave. They’re working their butts off to help me.”

  “Judy.” Fin’s voice boomed over the hum of conversation, the scrape of a ladder across the floor, and the clack of two-by-fours smacking into each other.

  Judy looked down at him from a catwalk her team had built to install lighting around the perimeter of the ceiling. “Yes, your highness?”

  Fin’s features burst into a smile. It lit up his whole face and made her knees weak. “I’m gonna steal the boss lady for an hour or so. You good?”

  “She’s more organized than an air traffic controller,” Judy said. “Go. Get her out of my hair.”

  “You tell him our plan?” Stan called from his huddle with some workers.

  She cut a look to Fin. He’s not going to like this. “Not yet.”

  “I need his okay,” Stan said.

  Fin’s brow creased in concern. “Tell me about what?”

  With a hand on his arm, she turned him away from the others. “Poplar Media’s going to do a segment on the exhibition.”

  “Callie—”

  “Wait. Just hear me out.”

  “No. Sending tear sheets to the board of directors from the local paper’s one thing, but national exposure?” Fin’s features hardened. “I don’t want that.”

  “I knew that would be your reaction, but Stan and I talked about it. Right now Traci’s managing the conversation, right? She’s all over the press and media, making you look bad. So we talked about how you could take the control back.”

  “I want it to go away.”

  “I know, but that’s not going to happen while Traci’s on her press tour. So let’s get Poplar Media out here to cover the exhibition and your involvement in it. Let people see that you don’t take it personally because it isn’t personal. And then, when they interview you, you can tell the truth. You won’t badmouth Traci. In fact, you’ll only mention her in the context of your trip and her injury, but you’ll be able to tell your side and let the world see you for who you are.”

  Crinkles appeared at the corners of his gorgeous blue eyes. “You trying to save me, wild thing?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She gave a smile that quickly faded. “I hate the idea that my exhibition will make things worse for you, and I think there’s a way for it to maybe help. You game?”

  “No. I appreciate you looking out for me, but…” He shook his head. “You go ahead and get the media out here. Just leave me out of it. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  She hesitated, not wanting to leave all these people while they worked on her exhibition.

  “Got a donor lined up for you.” He pulled her closer. “She’s at the fairgrounds right now.”

  His nearness made her heart beat thick and fast. If she turned—just slightly—their mouths would be a breath apart. She could cup the back of his neck and kiss him. Liquid heat gushed through her, making her body tingle all the way to the soles of her feet.

  Gah. Shake it off. “A donor? Why would I take money for something so temporary?”

  His muscular arm wrapped around her waist. “Wild thing, you just catapulted this thing to the national level. All your New York people are gonna see it. You want them to see a crude, homemade exhibit?”

  The very idea sent fear like a slingshot right into her gut.

  “You want to knock it out of the park, you need green. Besides, you think I didn’t see how excited you got over that Chevy door? Wait’ll you see what you get when we talk to some of my dad’s old friends.”

  He was right. Without money, she had an interesting idea. With funding, she could turn it into something sensational. “I want that. You know I do. But…”

  “You’re a balls-out kind of woman, Callie. Why the hesitation?”

  She gestured to the amazing space coming to life. “We’ve set the opening for this Friday night. That means it’ll only be open for a month. It just doesn’t seem right to take money.”

  “Why shut it down? You’ve obviously got something here. The donations keep coming in. The comment section on the website Barbara made is out of control. Day one, you got ten thousand hits. And the Cooters are into it. Look at them.”

  Overseen by Judy and Stan, at least a dozen seniors worked on various projects.

  “Once it’s set up, it’ll run itself,” Fin said. “With them as docents, they’ll keep it going for you.”

  A slow bubble of excitement in her belly turned into a full boil. “I would love that. Even if I get the fellowship, it won’t guarantee me a job. I’ll probably be doing research for ten years before something opens up in the city.”

  “And if you keep this running, change it up every now and then, you get to keep the museum on your resume.”

  “It’s an exhibition.” She brushed off the irritation because she loved the idea so much. “Okay. Let’s do this.” Since the Cooters didn’t mind anyway, she led the way out of the building.

  Once they hit the sunshine, Fin said, “This lady we’re going to see? One day I’ll take you to see her art collection.” His boots pounded on the boardwalk. “You ever get sick of living in the city and want to come home to the wide open Wyoming sky, you can make a serious living as an art consultant to her and her friends.”

  Oh. She’d never thought of that. With funding cut-backs in the arts, most of the work of a curator would be getting donations from people like Julian’s parents. And it would take decades before she had any control over the installations. But as an art consultant, she’d focus on discovering art, presenting it to her clients, helping them decide which piece worked best in their homes.

  She would love that. Of course, no one would hire her until she had true experience. Until she’d developed a reputation in the field. So the fellowship, a job, and then…she could consider coming home. She’d never really allowed for that possibility, but it made her heart expand with so much hope it almost hurt. “It’s something to think about ten years from now when I have a track record.” />
  He didn’t break his stride, but she caught his expression, that flinch of his muscles. She knew he wanted to say something, to convince her that his dad’s connections would help bypass whatever experience she thought she needed. The Bowies were tenacious. They wouldn’t be champions if they gave up easily. She loved that about them.

  If she came home, would that mean she and Fin could be together? The unguarded part of her heart hadn’t learned anything because the effervescence of being with him infused her whole body.

  But then, of course, reality smacked her in the face like a cold, wet fish. Their single biggest issue hadn’t changed. She could just see walking down the aisle, blinking away tears of joy to find the groom missing. Having her dad whisper in her ear, “Fin’s got to help Will at the Olympics, but he’ll be back as soon as he can. He promised.”

  Nope. Never again. They didn’t have a future.

  Glancing up and down the street, she didn’t see Fin’s truck. “Where’re you parked?”

  He gestured in the direction of Megan’s studio, to what once used to be the Round Up Motel and had now become a collection of funky buildings. The original office had rockers on the boardwalk and wind chimes hanging off the eaves. Next to it stood a quirky little house covered in street and animal crossing signs, graffiti, snowboards and ski poles. Callie stopped to take it all in. “What is all this?”

  “It’s the Hartley’s place.” His tone indicated she should know that.

  “Yeah. I know.” In the fifties and sixties, the motel—owned by Megan’s family—was the only lodging in their little town, but the boom hit in the eighties and tourists flooded into the area. In the nineties, the billionaires came. Construction went wild, including a private airport for their jets, ski lodges, fancy hotels, and big box stores.

  Thanks to its kitsch, the Round Up Motel had lasted all the way through to when Callie had gone off to college. “But what is it now?”

  “Megan turned the office into a yoga studio. And that building?” He indicated the one covered in signs and ski poles. “That’s the Reliquary Museum. You remember Coco Cavanaugh? She runs it.”

  “What did they do with the motel rooms?”

  A car door slammed, and she turned to see Megan drop her keys into a canvas tote and head toward them.

  Fin gave her a chin nod.

  “Hey.” Walking right past them, Megan gave Callie a bland smile.

  I did this. I hurt her so badly she treats me like a stranger. “Megan, I’m in town for the summer. I’d really like to grab a coffee and catch up with you.”

  Before Megan could respond, Fin jumped in. “You ought to give her a tour of the building. Show her what you’ve done with the place.”

  Megan raised an eyebrow. “Sure.” She kept on walking. “Got some office work to get done before class.” She unlocked the door and slipped inside.

  Fin stopped in front of a motorcycle, dug his keys out of his pocket, and handed her a helmet.

  She just stared at it. “I’m not getting on that.”

  “My Harley?” He looked at her in surprise. “You love riding with me.”

  She gestured to her linen dress and sandals. “I can’t ride dressed like this.” And wasn’t he taking her to meet an art patron? She could hardly arrive with windblown hair and road dust.

  Even if she couldn’t see his eyes behind the black-out aviators, she knew that look of impatience. He reached for her hand and pulled her toward the studio. “Megan’ll have something for you.”

  She jerked out of his hold. “Forget it. I was going to take my dad’s truck anyway.”

  “We’re taking the bike.”

  “Not a chance.” With a ridiculously tight budget and countless elegant events to attend, Callie had become a pro at shopping designer sales. Over the last few years, she’d accumulated a lean but nice wardrobe. And she took immaculate care of every piece. Which meant she would absolutely not get on a motorcycle and risk tearing the seams.

  He leaned into her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin. His delectable mouth curled into a smile. Which made her remember the way he’d kissed her. Which made her very, very uncomfortable because Fin’s kisses were as dangerous as a riptide—beneath the basic mechanics of mouths joining and tongues tangling swirled a powerful current of hot lust that always yanked her under, swept her away, and made her lose all sense of time and place. She’d lost her head many, many times around this man.

  “What do you do for fun in New York City? Fancy dinners? Walking around museums and art galleries?”

  That’s exactly what I do with Julian and his family. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’re in Calamity now. Those fancy dresses are gonna get real dirty around here.” He turned back toward the studio. “Come on.”

  “I’m not borrowing Megan’s clothes.” But, of course, he ignored her. She followed him up the stairs and across the boardwalk to the studio. “Did you hear me?”

  He stepped inside. “Megan?”

  “What’s up?” She came out of a small office, with a pen in one hand and a cellphone in the other.

  “You got something my girl can wear on my bike?”

  My girl. He pulled each word from his quiver and shot them straight into her heart.

  Meagan nodded. “After you mentioned my studio in that article for Sports Illustrated, my business tripled. You can borrow my firstborn child if you want. Hang on a sec.” She slipped into a long hallway lined with hooks and cubbies.

  “There’s no way I’m going to fit into Megan’s clothes. I’m twice her size.”

  Lifting the sunglasses, he gave a slow perusal from her breasts to her hips to her thighs, all the way down to the hot pink toenails peeking out of the cut-out in her wedges. On the way back up his lips curved into a wicked smile. “You’re one hell of a beautiful woman, Callie-bell.”

  Heat burst in her core, the flames licking to the lobes of her ears.

  “I want to see the wind mess up your hair.” He stepped closer. “Want to hear you shout when I take a turn too fast.” He lowered his face to her neck and inhaled before bringing his mouth right to her ear. “And I’m pretty sure you do, too.”

  Damn him for being right.

  “Here you go.” Megan came out with a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt that said I Yoga to Burn Off the Crazy.

  “You got any shoes?” Fin called.

  “I’ve got some Keds.” Megan turned to her. “You still a size seven?”

  She nodded, but her friend had already turned back down the hallway. “Fin, I can’t meet an art patron wearing a T-shirt.” But she knew she couldn’t hide anything from him, so he probably saw the gleam in her eyes.

  Because no matter how wrong it would be to show up in jeans and a T-shirt when asking for donations, her body remembered the thrill of riding a motorcycle. Of the times she’d ridden on the back of Fin’s, her hands on his stomach, her chest molded to his back. The way, on the long, straight stretches of highway, he’d hold her hand on top of his hard thigh.

  It didn’t take her long to change out of her designer dress.

  And when she came out of the Ladies Room wearing the borrowed clothes and Megan’s clean, white sneakers, Fin reached for her hand and slid his glasses back down. “Let’s ride.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Arms fastened around Fin’s waist, Callie tipped her head back and let the warm wind undo all the taming she’d done to her hair that morning. With the blur of the Tetons to her left and ranchland to her right, she took in the bright blue sky.

  Everything she’d had on lockdown in her adult life unraveled like a spool of ribbon in the warm wind.

  Funny how she’d thought that wild, uninhibited girl had been crushed under the heel of Fin’s boot, when she’d been here all along.

  Oh, cut it out. You crushed your own spirit. She could’ve responded any number of ways—railed at him, gone wild with her independence in the city—but she’d chosen to neatly pack away every
thing she’d once been to reinvent herself into this…refined woman. She’d quit making art to curate it. She’d let her hair grow out to its natural color, tossed out her hot pink patent leather boots, and sworn off wild love.

  That was all on her.

  But even as she cleared the path of lies, a bigger truth came rushing in. With every minute she spent in this town, her heart opened wider to Fin. Nobody—nobody—cared about her the way he did. He looked at her like she was his birthday cake ablaze with candles, his Christmas stocking stuffed with foil-wrapped presents. Like she was the light of his life.

  And that was a heady feeling.

  When Fin’s big hand covered hers, a shock of awareness hit. She almost felt embarrassed, as if she’d voiced her feelings right in his ear. But, of course, she hadn’t. He’d always had that sixth sense with her, probably because he paid such close attention. He picked up on her cues—when her body heated up or her expression changed or her fingers curled into fists.

  She just…she felt too much for him. Unconsciously, her thighs pressed into him, and she tightened her hold. The smell of him—his shampoo, his clean shirt, his rugged, masculine essence—unearthed all the longing she kept at bay. That desperate ache to hold him. Yes, God. She’d give anything to be swallowed up in his big, powerful arms. His bear hugs made everything right in the world.

  He was right. His love had given her wings. The profound sense of acceptance had enabled the watchful, quiet girl to stand on the edge of a cliff and leap, knowing she could power herself to safety.

  What a bitch she’d been to reduce their relationship to a high school romance in front of Julian. How petty of her to try to make him feel bad—to get back at him for hurting her. She wished she could go back and change the way she’d handled everything.

  Fin held out his hand to indicate he was making a right turn. She looked up to see they’d entered the parking lot of the fairgrounds. Slowing, he angled into a spot in a row of motorcycles. The packed lot gave way to ticket booths and then acres of tents, white fences, and carnival rides.