“Some people would call that foreplay,” Sinclair said. “Opposites attract, you know.”
Good God. “I’ve got work to do,” I said, walking away to get the papers for the mayor’s new assistant. As much as I wasn’t sure about that situation, I appreciated the chance to leave the conversation. Then went to check on the mayor and his new perky assistant.
7
Ryder
I wasn’t surprised Trina was doing everything she could to avoid me, but it was annoying. I mean come on! I wasn’t a bad guy. I was bending over backwards to make this bet go easy for her, and she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Two nights into our fake marriage, I went ahead and asked her out for dinner, like a real date, which of course, she refused. So maybe dinner was too big of a deal. I asked her out for a coffee instead. She said no.
A part of me wondered why I didn’t accept the writing on the wall; Trina didn’t like me. At least not anymore. Perhaps I really was a glutton for punishment because I couldn’t let it go. My next ploy was to convince my sister to cancel her official deputy mayor appearance at the senior center dance. Once a month the center hosted the dance for residents of the senior living community as well as for seniors in the greater Salvation area. Usually, the mayor’s office sent someone down to participate as well. This month was Sinclair’s turn but when the center booked my band to play for the dance, I asked Sinclair to back out and send Trina instead.
“You’ve reverted to high school games,” Sinclair said when I pitched the idea.
“I know. I can’t believe it myself, but…” I let my explanation drop because there really wasn’t one except that I was nuts.
Luckily, Alyssa was off at my parents’ house, which would give Sinclair a night alone with Wyatt if she didn’t do the senior dance. I kept the part about arranging for my parents to invite Alyssa over for the night to myself.
The night of the dance, Trina came through the door grumbling, as she often did. “I can’t believe I have to spend the evening keeping old people from feeling each other up.”
I laughed. “I admire that older people can still get it on. Makes me not so afraid to get old if I can still have sex.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you think about?”
“No. Do you ever think about it?”
She gave me her agitated glare and I just grinned. It was the game between us. I poked and she glared. It was the longest foreplay I’d ever been involved in.
She disappeared into her room. I shook my head in amusement as I went to get us both a glass of wine. I hoped it would soften the edges for her. It was one thing to be prickly with me, but another to seniors when she’s representing the mayor’s office.
“Well, I guess I’m off.”
I turned and nearly dropped the glass of wine. She wore a green sleeveless dress that made her auburn hair look like spun gold. The dress wasn’t risqué, and yet the way it accentuated her round tits and curves made my mouth water.
“What?” She looked down. “Too much?”
Knowing she’d change her clothes or get mad if I told her what I was thinking—“You’re fucking sexy,”—I shook my head and said instead, “No. It’s great. Wine?”
Her eyes narrowed as if she didn’t believe me. “I need my keys and to get going.”
“Why don’t we ride together?” I suggested.
“Together?” She took the wine and sipped.
“I’m playing all those old Sinatra and Bobby Darin songs tonight.”
Her gaze drifted down my body and then back up. “I was wondering why you were wearing slacks and a button shirt. I thought maybe you had a job interview or something.”
“I have a job.”
She shrugged. It was a reminder that she thought I was a slacker. That somehow bartending and playing in a band wasn’t real work.
We finished our wine, which didn’t smooth her edges as we ended up arguing over who’d drive. She didn’t want to get in my truck, but since all my band stuff was in it and wouldn’t fit in her car, my truck was the only option if we were going to carpool. Eventually, she relented.
“I’m not making a statement,” Trina said when we arrived and walked into the large rec area of the senior center. “I told Sinclair I wouldn’t.”
“I’ll do it. I think as long as you schmooze with the people and dance with a few of the men, you’ll be all right. Watch their hands though. Old men like to squeeze great asses.”
She arched a brow at me. “Thanks for the warning.”
I took the stage with my band to set up as Trina made the rounds, saying hello and chatting with the seniors.
When we were ready, I went to the mic. “Are you ready to dance?”
“Yeah!” several of the seniors said, grabbing the hands of their partners and coming to the dance area.
“Before we start, I want to introduce Katrina Lados, Mayor Valentine’s right-hand woman. And for those of you men looking to dance with her, watch your hands. Ms. Lados doesn’t put up with nonsense.” I winked at her when she frowned at me. “Especially you Mr. Costner.”
“Aw man,” the elderly man known to have an eye for the ladies said.
“How about we start with Sinatra’s Come Dance with Me?” I counted out the beat and we started playing.
When I first formed my band, my goal was to be a country rock star. Of course, I couldn’t build that sort of career here in Salvation. I’d have had to have gone to Nashville. But my drummer married his high school sweetheart, and my bass player had to stick around to help the family farm, and I and the rest of the band ended up settling into our respective jobs. I suppose I could have gone on my own, but after a while, I found I was quite content with my life. I didn’t need fame and fortune. All I needed was a drama-free life, my family, and music. I had all that here.
But to stay in Salvation and play music, the band had to adapt. We played old standards for the seniors, more contemporary music for weddings, and on our own, we occasionally did gigs with original music. My life was good. I hoped to make it great by convincing Trina to give me a chance.
I finished the song. “On to a song that was my grandparents’ favorite. Cole Porter’s Night and Day.”
“Oh, I love that too,” a woman on the dance floor said. “Don’t you Harry?”
“When will you play, I’m Beginning to See the Light?” Harry asked.
“Bobby Darin will be next,” I said.
We started on Night and Day, and as I sang, I watched Trina. She wasn’t one for group settings, but she smiled and chatted with the seniors. The fact that the seniors were smiling and laughing back suggested Trina wasn’t being snarky or difficult. Perhaps she was like that just for me.
We moved on to I’m Beginning to See the Light, which Harry belted out with us. He didn’t have a bad voice and I wondered if maybe we should have him come up on the stage for a tune.
When we finished, I turned to the band. “What about Baby Love?”
“It’s not a standard,” Jeff, my bassist said.
“It’s a slow ballad though. It would probably fit,” Billy, the drummer, said.
The rest of the band nodded that it was worth the try to do an original song. This song wasn’t just original, it was old. I’d written it years ago based on a poem I discovered Trina had written. The baby in question was Sinclair’s child, but the words could also represent romantic love.
“For fun, we’d like to play you one of our own original songs. I hope you like it. It’s called Baby Love.” I watched Trina as we played the opening notes.
“My heart beats for you, my breath breathes for you…” I started.
Trina’s gaze jerked to me, her eyes narrow. I continued to sing the words she once wrote for my sister and her unborn child. Her breath caught the moment she knew for sure I was singing her words. I smiled, wanting to acknowledge the beautiful poem and hoping she liked the music I’d set it to.
But what I saw instead was anger. Her face a
ctually turned red, and if steam coming out of the ears was a real thing, I was sure that’s what would be happening to her. She turned and hurried out of the large room.
What the hell? I thought, but I continued to finish the song.
“Hey, Harry. How about you come up and sing Beyond the Sea?” It was the only other Bobby Darin song we knew.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He blushed.
“Come on,” I urged, watching the door to see if Trina was coming back in.
“Yes, Harry.”
“Come on Harry.”
The room chanted for him to sing.
He came up and I relinquished the mic to him. I left the stage and rushed from the room, hoping I could find Trina.
She wasn’t in the hall. I tried several doors, but they were locked. Finally, my only option was that she was in the ladies’ room or outside. I went out into the parking lot. The air was warm and smelled of summer.
“God damn him!”
I turned to see Trina pacing, kicking rocks, and cursing.
“What’s wrong?” I said, approaching carefully in case she wanted to lash out. I had no doubt that she could do some damage if she wanted to kick my ass.
She whirled on me. “You had no right to use my poems. My private words for Sinclair. It was fucked up when you did it to make fun of me ten years ago and it’s fucked up now.”
I’d never heard her use the f-word before, so this was a clue that she was well and truly pissed.
“Whoa, wait. I’m not making fun of you.”
“The hell you aren’t. That stupid little ditty you sang ten years ago? Everyone in Salvation was laughing at me. And now? Making fun of me again…” She started to storm off, but I caught her arm, ready to duck if she swung at me.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I liked your poems, especially this one. That’s why I put it to music.”
“You’re just teasing me. That’s all you do, Ryder. You poke and tease and make fun of me.”
Holy shit, was that what she thought? Was that why she was always so prickly toward me? “That’s not true.” I carefully took her other arm and tried to rub them both to calm her.
She pulled back, leaning against the outside of the building. I hated how defeated her expression was.
“Trina.”
She looked at me, and while she was trying to appear tough, I could see pain in her eyes and I hated myself for putting it there.
I searched my brain for what I could say to make her see that I wasn’t making fun of her. Taking a chance, I repeated the first words of her poem, “My heart beats for you.”
Before she could yell or hit me or both, I leaned forward and captured her lips with mine.
8
Trina
I wanted to yell and scream. I wanted to hit and punch him. I wanted him to never stop kissing me.
I ignored the warning bell sounding in my brain and gripped his shirt, holding him to me, kissing him back. He tasted like a man should; sexy, dark, with a hint of whiskey making me wonder if he snuck a shot before going on stage. He moaned, the sound of it reverberating through me, awakening all my senses. His hands held my hips like they’d never let go as his tongue slid along the seam of my mouth, asking for entrance that I eagerly allowed. His tongue was hot, wet, and knew exactly what to do as it danced with mine. I’d kissed men before, but I’d never been kissed like this. Those other kisses had been nice. Kissing Ryder was a full-on body experience, heady, and intoxicating at the same time.
The door to the building opened and an elderly couple exited, the woman tugging at the man’s hand and pulling him against her as they started to kiss.
“Oops,” she said as she saw me and Ryder. With a giggle, she pulled the man back into the building.
With the hypnotic haze broken, I looked at Ryder and all my anger and embarrassment flooded back. I had the urge to slap him, but I knew my anger was more at myself for letting him kiss me…for kissing him back, so instead, I pushed him away. Because I was too angry and upset to form words, I stalked to the parking lot to find my car and drive home.
As I searched for and didn’t find my car, I remembered I’d come with Ryder. God dammit. Fine, I’d walk. In fact, maybe I’d just quit this stupid bet and go back to my own home.
Seething with all sorts of painful things I wanted to inflict on Ryder streaming through my brain, I started walking to town. I’d made it about a half a mile when Ryder’s truck pulled up beside me. The window on the passenger side slid down.
“Get in,” he said.
I ignored him.
“Trina, don’t be an ass. Get in the truck.”
I glared at him. “Don’t you have a dance to play at?”
“I told them I had an emergency. The rest of the band can cover for me. Now get in.”
“No.” I hated feeling like a petulant child, but better that than getting in the truck with Ryder. I couldn’t trust him. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could trust myself as I could still taste him on my lips. My body wanted to taste more of him. Traitorous hormones.
“I can see you’re heading back to your place. Sinclair will view this as you losing the bet. That Harvest Festival speech is a good five minutes long at least. Are you saying you’d rather talk in front of the town than get into this truck with me?”
I stopped short, hating that he was right. Public speaking or Ryder. Both options sucked big time, but in the end, I felt I could manage Ryder. I was sure my head would explode if I had to speak in front of all of Salvation.
Grumbling, I climbed in the truck. He turned around and headed back to his place. At least he wasn’t talking, I thought as we rode in silence. How the heck did I get here? My life was so ordered. So balanced. Now I felt like it was tilted on its axis and I didn’t like that feeling. It was too reminiscent of the chaos in my life growing up. All the moving around. All the wondering how we’d live when my father lost yet another job. The time my mother went grocery shopping and never came back. The day the divorce papers came from California where apparently she’d gone to live. By the time I was ten years old, I knew that if I was going to make it in this world, it was up to me. I couldn’t rely on anyone. Not my father. Not my mother. No one but me.
The only moment of security I remember feeling while growing up was right after my mother abandoned us when I was ten, and my father left me alone to go look for her. When Sinclair’s mother heard I was by myself, she had me go stay with them. The Simms were a happy family. There was laughter and music in their house. Sinclair and Ryder played all the time. They didn’t have to make dinner or mediate between their parents. Everyone was nice to each other. Someone, I suspect Sinclair, would every now and then leave me a flower in my backpack or on my bike as a way to make me feel better when I did miss my parents.
When my father showed up again, I didn’t want to leave the calm and happiness of the Simms home, but of course, I had no choice. I was sent back into the chaos. Interestingly enough, when my dad left me again the last time when I finished high school, I found myself lost without him. I suspected both Ryder and Sinclair would say that was when my behavior became obsessive and volatile. As unstable as my father was, it was all I knew and then it was gone.
Sinclair suggested counseling several times over the years, but I didn’t want the world to know my business. Plus, I didn’t want to take drugs for depression or anxiety or whatever form of unbalance a counselor would diagnose. Checking with Dr. Google on natural ways to balance mood, I discovered St. John’s Wort. I’d been taking it ever since, although at times like this, I wondered if it really worked. The lava-hot blood coursing through my blood suggested it wasn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Ryder said softly next to me. “I never meant the songs as a joke. I truly liked your poems. I loved how they’d made Sinclair feel supported during a scary time in her life. I saw how they affected her and I wanted to put them to music.”
He glanced at me quickly, probably wondering if I was going to beat him or jump out of th
e truck.
“In retrospect, based on how we banter at each other, I can see how you might think I was joking. But honest to God, Trina, my use of your poems was sincere.”
His admission was a surprise, and a little knot in my belly started to loosen because he sounded sincere.
“You’re not usually serious or sincere,” I said, afraid to trust my gut.
“I know I’m a laid back guy that tries not to take things too seriously in life, but that doesn’t mean I think everything is a joke. I respect you, Trina. I like you.” He glanced at me again. “A lot.”
That knot was loosening even more, and it scared the bejeebers out of me. I couldn’t let myself get ensnared by Ryder’s seeming sincerity or charm.
“Thank you. I appreciate your apology.”
“Good.”
Needing to keep a barrier between us, I said, “I don’t know why you kissed me like that—”
“I just told you why. I like you.”
My heart fluttered but I told it to calm down. I didn’t need it to get any ideas about me and Ryder. That crush I had on him in high school was long gone. He made my hormones go haywire because it had been a long time since they’d been stimulated. When this bet was over, I’d need to consider dating more again as clearly they’d become less discriminating during my long sexual drought.
Just to be sure he understood where the boundary line was, I said, “I think we should keep things platonic. No kissing or touching. We win the bet and that’s it.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
When we got back to his place, I immediately went to my room. I worried he might continue to want to talk or kiss, but luckily, he let me be.
I climbed into bed and willed sleep to come, but I didn’t have any luck there. Each time I closed my eyes, Ryder appeared. One thing about him, he was smooth. At the senior center, he looked suave and sexy, like he’d stepped off a 1950’s Vegas stage with the Rat Pack. His voice was smooth and silky and if I were prone to romantic notions, I’d have been lured in by its lovely tone. Instead, I’d been bewitched by his kiss. His mouth consuming mine flashed in my brain, making my body heat with the memory of his soft, yet firm lips. I could still taste him. I could still feel the way his hands held my hips and the growing arousal in his fancy slacks.
Accidental Baby: Ryder & Trina's Story (Fake Marriage Romance Book 2) Page 5