The band wrapped up their song and announced they’d be taking a break.
Ivy followed the cowhand back to her table, drank, and then headed down the hallway toward the ladies’.
“Fuck it. Be back in a few,” he told Miguel.
First stop, jukebox. There she was: Avril Lavigne. Complicated.
And it was complicated. But maybe now they were grown up, he could simplify things.
If Superman would play for the right amount of time…
He felt like a fool, standing in the hallway just past the ladies’ room, but this was one of those desperate times.
She came out right between the songs he’d played. Perfect. “Ivy.”
She whirled and faced him. And sighed at him like he was a piece of junk mail. “Yes, Ridley?”
He pushed off the wall and moved close to her as Complicated began playing. “Remember this song? When we danced to it?”
She squeezed her eyes shut like her head hurt. A lot. “Yes.”
He moved close enough he could smell her, a bit of melon coming off her hair, and something vanilla. “I remember it too. It was…it was a good dance, right?”
She tried to step back, but he put his arms around her and looked down into those blue, blue eyes. “If you say stop, I will. I promise.” He moved a little with the music and she stiffened. He kept swaying, and pressed closer, the music’s rhythm pulsing in his chest. Like last time, she curved into him, soft and perfect. Jesus, was it possible she felt better in his arms now than she had that night at prom?
He hadn’t expected it, had never felt so right with any girl, just holding her close. Girls were for…well, mostly one thing. And they seemed to want him for just the same thing. He didn’t keep a girlfriend, didn’t need one. When he wanted a girl for a night, he never had trouble picking one up. But Ivy… He’d never thought of her that way. Maybe she’d be his girlfriend. Like, to go on dates and stuff.
He wanted to bury his hands in that big twisty bun, free that miles-long hair, but she’d probably get mad. He moved his hands down and clasped her ass. Damn.
She groaned. “Ridley.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “This is a bad—”
No time to waste. He laid one on her. Hot, hard, and hungry, to let her know how crazy she made him. She tasted like beer, felt like the Fourth of July, all hot and explosive.
She broke the kiss and turned her head to the side, pushing out of his arms. “Stop. God. You taste like straight tequila. You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. No way was he drunk. Completely capable of consent. “No.”
“Gotta appreciate that irony, right?” She stepped back. “Sorry, but ‘I can’t take advantage of you when you’re under the influence.’ Turnabout’s fair play.”
She rushed off as the final strains of their song wound down.
Chapter 3
Ivy curled in on herself and regretted the movement. What the hell happened to her stomach? And why did her head feel like somebody had shoved a speculum in through her eye and opened it as wide as possible? “What the hell?” Oh, shouldn’t have done that. Way too loud. “What the hell happened?” she whispered. Opening her eyes to look around sucked. Way too bright.
“Not sure,” a man—something told her Ridley—said, very close to her.
She forced her eyes open. Holy hell, her hair was tangled everywhere. She shoved it in en masse behind her.
Not her room, or any she’d ever been in. “Shit, shit. What the hell time is it? Where am I? How did we get here? Did we…”
Ridley sat up in naked morning glory, oblivious to that thing called modesty.
She scrambled to spread a wadded sheet across her torso.
He curled around to reach underneath him. Dear lord, what a perfect back, and if only every plumber showed a crack like that… He held up several parts of condom packages. “I’d say yes. We did.” He fanned the packages out in his hand. “Looks like more than once.”
“Oh, sweet God. Oh. Damn.” She covered her eyes with her hand, as much to block the view of him as to protect herself from the glare. “How?” She’d slept with Ridley Tucker.
He flopped back beside her. “Um. I remember…something about a drinking contest. Right?”
Drinking contest. “Cleve’s cowboys, something about Dallas and Denver football...”
“Yeah, yeah. You said you could outdrink any of them.”
What a dumbass. Nobody ever won a drinking contest. Even if she did usually, technically, win. She’d been riding high after rejecting Ridley, pretty damn full of herself. Never should’ve gone out. Should’ve stayed in. She’d slept with Ridley Tucker and couldn’t remember any of it. “What a rip-off. I can’t remember at all, and I bet you’re good. God knows you’ve had enough practice.”
“Wanta go again, for the memory book?” He raised up on one elbow and looked down at her, his eyebrows bouncing.
“You did not just say that.”
He grinned. “You know, about the practice comment…I’m not like I used to be. Wild and all.”
“Sure, you’re the picture of celibacy. How did we get here, anyway?”
“Umm. I’m guessing probably the Howells drove us. I rode in last night with Miguel.”
She would get Kiersten for this. “So is this your place?”
“Yeah. The apartment above my shop.” He skimmed from her shoulder down to her collarbone with his hand and then back to her ear, raising goose bumps. “You want some coffee or something?”
“No, I need to get home. Oh, shit. What time is it? I’m supposed to be at the pumpkin patch at nine.”
“It’s, uh…” He rolled and turned over his alarm clock to see it. “Nine.”
“Oh, dammit. Dammit, damn. It!” She sat up and looked around the room for her clothes. “I get to make the walk of shame into my parents’ house then go in late to my volunteer job at my uncle’s farm. Great.”
He wrapped his fingers, warm and strong, around her arm. “Hey. Maybe you can call your uncle and tell him you don’t feel good? We can take a minute and talk about—”
“What could we possibly have to talk about, Ridley? Huh? You got exactly what you wanted. What you always want. A piece of ass. Is there a list someplace with all the females’ names, so you can check me off?” A sickening feeling hit her that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Was this another bet? Huh?” She slapped his hand away. “You asshole, sure it was. Instead of whether you could get me to dance this time, the bet was probably about getting me in bed. I. Am. So. Stupid.”
“Huh? What? Bet…” Well, he wasn’t denying it. It had been a bet. Bastard.
How could she ever, ever, have gotten drunk enough to not know what he was up to? “Can you get me to my parents’ house, or do I need to call somebody for a ride?”
“Yeah. I’ll take you on my bike. Just give me like a minute to get my jeans on. But Ivy, it’s not like you think. There wasn’t a bet.”
“Shut up. Don’t talk.” God, she was about to lose it and start crying. And she refused to cry in front of this colossal ass. “I don’t want to talk to you now, or ever. Ever! Just shut up and take me home.”
* * * *
Ridley stopped to let Ivy dismount and turned off the ignition, hoping she’d wait for a second so he could clear things up.
She stepped away, pulled off the spare helmet and handed it to him. Man, they’d trashed her hair last night. She’d be even madder when she tried to brush it out. The ride over hadn’t helped any, either.
“Thanks for the ride. Home, I mean.” Blushing, she turned toward her house. Luckily, it looked like nobody was home.
“Ivy. Wait.”
She shook her head and kept walking.
“Ivy!” He dismounted and hustled to catch her.
She whirled and smacked her hands against his chest. “Spare me the whole process where you try to make us both feel better. I know Mark Jones put you up to asking me to dance at prom. And last night you had a lit
tle bet with your buddy Miguel, right?”
“No. No. Last night was just me. And you.”
“Whatever. And prom?”
“Prom was…you know. Amazing. And then at the after party…you were different.”
“Different.” She snorted. “Yeah. Whatever I did, it was obviously different enough to be wrong. But you couldn’t even pretend I was mediocre, and go along with it, right? No, you had to ditch me, because apparently I was so damn awkward you couldn’t be with me, even with the lights out. After all those other girls…it was that bad?”
“No, no, I told you.” She had it all wrong. He had to make her understand. “You were drunk. I didn’t want you doing something with me you wouldn’t do sober. I told you.”
Oh, damn. Tears brimmed over and slid down her cheeks.
“I heard stories the other girls told, Ridley. You slept with a bunch of them when they were drunk. It was practically your hallmark to get a girl wasted and then have your way.” She pounded her fists against his chest.
“Honey, no. Listen. I didn’t want it to be like that with you. You were different. Not like those other girls.”
Her face crumpled. “You’re right. I was never like the other girls. In any way.” She backed away, turned and jerked the front door open, went inside and banged it closed.
Somehow, by not taking advantage of her, he’d made her even more of an outsider than her big ole brain and the teachers who’d held her up as the gold standard had already made her.
And then somebody—probably Mark—had made it worse and ruined his chances at asking her out by telling her they’d only been dancing on a bet.
How the hell did a guy go about undoing something like that?
* * * *
Ivy blinked at the folder in front of her and read again.
RTC, Inc. 409 West 2nd.
Ridley’s apartment and shop were on West Second. So either she’d be working every day promoting a show that was very close to Ridley’s place, or…
How could she have missed the connection? RTC…could that be Ridley Tucker SomethingstartingwithC? Cycles?
Damn, damn.
Ridley hadn’t said anything about a TV show. But then, Ridley had a history of withholding information, didn’t he?
She flopped back on her bed in her old room and stared at the window. Sometime after she’d left for college, Mom had draped her Prom Attendant sash diagonally from the curtain rod over to her wall mirror.
God, that night had been just full of ups and downs. Prom queen nomination? Up. No date: Down. Pretty dress? Up. Realizing nobody wanted to dance with her? Down. Ridley acting all forlorn and alone and begging her to dance? Up. Held tight in his arms, pretty much staying in one place but swaying with the song? Up. When he’d whispered he’d kiss her, but Mrs. Lynn was right there and they’d get busted for PDA? Up, up and away.
She hadn’t gone to the after prom party the school put on like her parents expected her to. A couple of juniors from Chemistry Club had planned a house party at the edge of town. Hoping she’d see Ridley again, she’d taken them up on the invite.
Her first beer, her first wine, her first shot. All down in quick succession, and then there he was, his undone tie draped funny-shaped around his neck. He made a beeline for her, grabbed two Solo cups of beer, and motioned her to follow him to the RV out back.
She knew it was a set-up; Ridley planned out his little seductions and scored every time. But she was fine with being his point for the night. She was fully prepared to lose her virginity. Hey, at least it would be to a pro—a superhot pro—and she’d go to college experienced. Yeah…prepared.
She wasn’t prepared for his kiss, or how drunk it made her feel. He pressed her down to the couch cushion, settling his weight on top of her, warm, strong and sure of himself. Her head spun, and she needed more. More lips, more tongue, more hands…please, God, let him touch her more. Up her bare leg, across her shoulders, along her ribs… She could feel him pushed up against her hip, much harder than she’d ever imagined. So this was desire. The way he kept saying her name, like a secret password, like a song… To be wanted this way was a heady feeling. She never wanted it to end. She shuddered, choked back a little sob of excitement or joy or lust—
He jerked away. “Oh, shit, Ives. I’m sorry. I can’t… No, I can’t. You’re too… I can’t take advantage of you when you’re drunk.” He gave her a consolation kiss on the forehead and left her there on the dusty orange RV sofa.
Ivy wiped yet another tear away. “The first cut is the deepest.” Did that mean getting tangled with Ridley wouldn’t be as hard the second time around?
Well, she wasn’t going to find out. She’d march into his shop in the morning and inform him she’d only be here for the interim, until her firm could send someone else to promote his show.
Then she’d have to figure out where to go to work, where to live. Basically build a new life. Someplace far away from Rifle and Ridley.
Chapter 4
Ivy stopped just inside the garage bay door of the RTC shop. Across the back wall, Ridley Tucker Custom scrolled in neatly welded metal calligraphy at least two feet tall. With the sun at her back, she struggled to focus in the dim garage. There he was, kneeling next to a bike.
She cleared her throat, and made sure to maintain perfect posture, her messenger bag slung nonchalantly over her right shoulder, left hand on hip.
He looked up, pressed his hand above his eyes to block the sun. “Uh. Ivy?” His voice squeaked a little bit on her name. “What’s up?”
She waited while he wiped his hands on a rag and approached. When he stood in front of her, she launched. “My employer, Lone Star Promotions, assigned me the task of promoting the new show documenting your work.” She raised her chin a notch. “Tucker’s Tailpipes, my last email tells me they’ve decided to call it.”
He swallowed hard, nodded once, and looked off through the grungy window next to the man-door. Then he aimed those killer gray eyes on her and half-grinned. “So you’re good with…” He flipped a finger back and forth between them.
She stared him down. Hard. “I didn’t make the connection until last night. And I’d have never taken this assignment if I’d known.”
He flinched, but didn’t step back.
Wow, she’d made such a nice, icy delivery too.
Might as well put it all out there. “Pending approval from a senior executive back at corporate, I’ll be launching the campaign and then handing the project over so I can be on my way. Hopefully by the end of the week.”
He did a good imitation of a fish, his mouth opening and then closing with no apparent purpose.
She turned a slow three-sixty, examining the shop. “Camera crews are on a twenty-four hour delay. Their flight into Denver yesterday was grounded at Salt Lake due to high winds. Which is a windfall to us—pun totally intended—because I plan to make the most of the time and get everything shipshape. I’ve ordered a cleaning service to come make this place camera ready, and contracted a local photog…” She waited for the name to come back to her. “Phil’s Fine Photos. He’ll be here at one PM to take some HD panoramics of the shop and surrounding area, headshots of all your crew, and promotional photos of you and your second-in-command.”
Again with the fish-mouth. “Uh. Cleaning crew? It’s…a bike shop.” He looked around at his stuff. “What will they clean?”
“For starters, those disgusting windows. Anything glass needs to be crystal clear, or it’ll look bad on film. All dust must go. The bathroom you guys use is probably disgusting.” She raised her brows at him and he shrugged, but turned red. “We’re looking to attract a female demographic with your show, Ridley. Ladies don’t want to think you guys live and work like pigs. From now on, you’re hot, good-smelling, fun-loving studs. If you don’t have new, clean, untorn and nonstained company shirts right now, we need to get a rush order from the printer downtown.”
“Whoa. Wait.” He put his fists on his hips and looked around
his domain. “Females? You do know it’s a show about building bikes—motorcycles—right?”
Ah, she was going to have fun with this while she could. “Network says all those other bike and car project shows go after the male audience. They want this one to compete with Dancing with the Stars. Which means you and your hottie Latino helper pal are going to steal their breath and make their hearts race. Women all over the country will be drooling over your tailpipes.” She gave him her sharky smile, then stepped closer and rubbed her hand along his stubbly jaw. “Nice. Should be perfect for the pictures.”
He put his hand over hers and met her gaze. Her sharky smile probably faded into something else when she gulped. Damn. If she could spotlight that sex appeal, this show would be a megahit.
She let her hand drop out of his. “Being a ladykiller is second nature for you, right?”
Just wait ’til it came time for the photo shoot. That very long phone conversation with Kiersten last night had helped solidify her plans. Kiersten was awesome at this revenge thing. Ridley and Miguel were about to pay big-time for their womanizing comments at the pumpkin patch. And Ridley…well, he had other bad behavior to pay for too.
* * * *
Ridley wished he could keep on eating lunch with RJ and forget about Ivy’s crazy photo shoot. What the hell was up with her, anyway? Back to Ivy League, like she’d been in high school: business, business. Cleaning ladies moving his shit around, re-arranging RJ’s little play corral in the corner, guys changing out lights and bulbs, and a makeup crew, for Christ’s sake. Makeup! Hell no, he wasn’t wearing any. Screw that. If the network wanted a show about pansies pretending to work on bikes in their prissy clean clothes, they could hire some actors and film an un-reality show.
“Hey buddy, you ready to go back downstairs and play some more?” He ruffled RJ’s hair and helped him down from his booster seat with a quick kiss to the forehead. RJ looked up with the love-ya-Daddy smile that made every bit of hell life handed out worthwhile. Thank God the kid had been at preschool all morning and missed him having a swear-fit when the makeup artists showed up. Christ.
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