Paradise by the Dashboard Light

by Kathryn R. Biel

  Carlos has taken up his station behind the bar and waves a bottle in his hand. I bend down as seductively as I can and allow him to pour some tequila right in my mouth. It burns going down, and I wish I could spit it out. But the song overtakes me, and I give it all I have right until the final notes. As Duran Duran is replaced by the sultry sounds of Camila Cabello, I accept Filippe's hand as I step down from the bar to a stool and then to the floor.

  And maybe I should have stopped drinking before that, because the sight before my eyes makes me think I must be hallucinating.

  No way this is happening.

  

  Ian

  I don't hold out high hopes for the bar Pete thought Mel was in. Walking in the door, the hot, humid air hits us like a brick wall in contrast with the brisk November night. Over to the left, in the front window, the band instruments lay dormant while tinny music plays in the background. I hear a voice over a microphone but don't pay attention to the heavily accented words. From over by the bar, squeals indicating inebriated females erupt, and I make a move to walk back out.

  No thank you.

  Pete's on his own to find Mel. I am not in a place or mood to handle a gaggle of rowdy dunk women, probably a bachelorette party.

  But then I hear the song and freeze, and it instantly takes me back to a time in my life when things were easier and I was happy. It was before my heart was broken by betrayal and before I realized that things weren't as black and white as I'd always thought. I close my eyes, thinking of the girls, with their wide smiles. Rainne's always held a devilish glint that I couldn't resist while Rio's was sweet. And this is her song. God, I miss her. I let the words wash over me for a minute until John's elbow digging into my side brings me back into the present.

  "Dibs."

  "What?"

  "I've got dibs on that one."

  "Fine, man. Whatever. I'm—" My voice fades out as I see her. Her dark hair swirls and fans around her face. She arches and flips it back like she's in a music video. Damn. She turns so quickly I can't believe my eyes. It must be because of the song. That, in combination with the alcohol, is making me see things that can't possibly be there. And what I see are shapely legs leading up to a fine ass, hugged tightly in black leather. Her white top flutters and ripples around her, closed only at the top and bottom, exposing most of her back. There's no way in hell she's wearing a bra. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

  And then she turns and squats, balancing precariously on stiletto heels while letting the bartender pour a drink in her mouth. As she stands up, the back of her hand wiping her mouth, I realize that this is either some messed up dream or pure hell.

  "Think I can land her? Oh, look, she's with Mel and … oh crap, man. Trisha's here. If you walk out now, she'll never know you were here."

  I don't hear what John’s saying. Pete doesn't exist for me, and the fact that my ex is here doesn't register either as I make my way toward the bar. My feet move on their own, some unseen force pulling me toward her.

  The final bars of the song fade into something I don't recognize. I can't tear my gaze away from her. Urges I didn't know I possessed race through me, animalistic and primal in nature. I immediately want to deck the older man, obviously an employee, giving her a hand to safely put her feet back on the ground. I don't ever want to see someone else touching her.

  As I get closer I can see her skin is flushed and damp with a light sheen. Her hair is tousled and a lot longer and wilder than she used to wear it. She looks like she's just been thoroughly sexed.

  I want to make her look like that.

  The thought races through my brain like a freight train. Her friends gather around her, and it takes me a minute to realize that I know most of them. Beth, Mel, Angel, and yes, Trisha. The words John said earlier about my ex-girlfriend finally register.

  This is an unforeseen complication.

  Screw it. I don't care. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but her.

  Rio freezes the moment she sees me, color rapidly draining from her face. It's not the reaction I expect, but I don't let it deter me. I close the distance between us and envelope her in my arms. I feel her stiffen initially and then melt, the comfort of a shared childhood bubbling to the surface. But the warmth of her body brings more than comfort from the past. A feeling, a need, I'd never associated with Rio takes over, and I don't want let her go. Ever.

  "Are you shitting me?" I hear Trish shriek before the crashing of a glass tears Rio and I apart.

  Before I can say anything, Trish storms off, Angel close at her heels. Beth glares at me. "Jesus, Ian. I always knew you were a dick, but I didn't think you were this big of a dick."

  And then I feel it. The shaking and trembling at my side. I glance down. Rio seems taller than I remembered. She is certainly all grown up.

  And she does not look that happy to see me.

  "Rio, what are you doing here?"

  "I, uh …" she looks up a me, those big brown eyes wide and if I didn't know better, I'd say scared. "I live with Beth," she finally says dully, her voice dropping as her head falls forward. Her hair creates a screen, shielding her face from me. My arm is still tight around her back, and I can feel her bare skin, hot under my cold hand.

  "No, I don't mean here in the bar, but here in Boston."

  She mumbles something that I can't hear.

  "What?"

  Mumble, mumble, mumble.

  "What?" I yell, the sounds of the band drowning our voices out. "Let's go somewhere."

  I don't know if she hears me or not. I slide my hand down to hers and start pulling, nodding toward the door. She pulls back in the opposite direction, reaching for a discarded denim jacket. I let go of her long enough to let her don it, but I'm afraid if I'm not touching her, she'll disappear into thin air like a mirage.

  Like she'd done over ten years ago.

  John stops us on our way out the door, looking from me to Rio and back again. He looks pissed. "Seriously, man?"

  "John, this is Rio. She was my friend from when we were kids. Rio,

  "So I see you're still hanging out with people who are just like you, then." Rio gives a little smile. I'd never known her to be bold or brazen. Loyal, yes. Kind, absolutely. Funny, but never at another's expense.

  "You know her?" John shouted.

  "Not in the biblical sense, but we've slept together on many occasions." I thought I was being so funny but the look on Rio's face says she doesn't share in my humor. "We grew up together. And now we're going to talk for a bit." I start to walk through the door.

  "What about Trisha?" John pulls on my sleeve.

  "What about her? We're done. She knows that. This has nothing to do with her."

  "Pete went with Mel."

  "Good for him. Rio and I are going to catch up. I'll catch you, man."

  John doesn't say anything else.

  "Is your friend mad?" It's the first thing Rio says after walking for about a block. I'm not sure why she's being so quiet, but it had been a long time since I've seen her. Too long. An overwhelming need to hug her consumes me. I pull her into me for a moment, her body pressing into mine. I need to let her go before this gets embarrassing. I release all of her except her hand. Once I catch my breath I say, "Eh, he'll get over it. When we walked into the bar and he saw you, he called dibs."

  "Dibs?" She stops in her tracks, her hand halting me. "I'm not a piece of meat to go to the highest bidder."

  "No, of course not. But you know so we're not …" I trail off, trying find a word to spare me from actually using the term 'cockblocker.' "And he wasn't serious anyway. He's got a sort-of girlfriend."

  Rio starts walking again. She doesn't stop holding my hand. I hope she never lets go. "Do I even want to know what a 'sort-of girlfriend' is?"

  "She lives in Maine, so it's far enough away that sometimes he forgets he shouldn't be calling dibs, but close enough that he can't justify breaking up."

  "Yeah, you should remind your friend that women a
ren't pieces of cake to call dibs on."

  "But when they look as sweet as you, it's hard to remember that." The words fly out of my mouth before I could stop them. Seriously, I don't even know where they came from.

  Rio stops walking again. "You did not just say that."

  "Say what?" My only solution is to play dumb.

  "That God-awful pick up line. I know you were dating Trisha, and she's a doctor and all, but what idiots have you been dating that that sort of crap works? No way that would have worked on her. And where the hell are we going?"

  We've been walking aimlessly. I look up, not really sure of where we even are. "I don't know, but I …" I can't finish the sentence. For the first time in weeks—months—that feeling of malaise lifts. There is no logical explanation, but somehow, seeing Rio has made everything in my world right again.

  Chapter 6

  Rio

  I don't know whether I should run away or leap into his arms.

  Leap. Definitely leap.

  No, that would be bad. So bad. Yet good. I wonder what he's thinking? And he keeps touching me. He's hugged me twice and won't let go of my hand. I wonder if he'd mind if I kissed him? Seriously, what are the odds of this? I'd tried—relatively successfully—to not think about Ian McCallister for years. Then I mention him tonight. Not him per se but that night that I took Rainne's place. Despite the fact that it was years ago, I know I haven't moved on.

  And doubt I ever will.

  There's too much alcohol fogging my brain for me to process what is happening right now. And I'm pretty sure we're lost. And all I can think about is that he's holding my hand. It's big and warm and it's making me giddy. And horny. I really want to kiss him.

  "Are you hungry? Let's find a greasy spoon or something and get some eggs. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

  I nod, suddenly unable to find words.

  Ian McCallister. What the hell?

  I try not to make it obvious as I steal looks at him. If I thought he'd been handsome at seventeen, I was not prepared for the man he'd become. Holy hell. He is hot. Like movie star hot. I mean, what's not to like? Still towers above me. I'd say he's got to be at least six feet tall, but then everyone feels tall to my five-four frame. Perfectly symmetrical face. A bit of five o'clock shadow. And those eyes are as piercing green as ever. They still make me weak in the knees and dumb in the head.

  But I am still me and he'll never see me as anything but his buddy-buddy. His chum. His best friend. And twin sister to the girl who broke his heart. I mean, it's sad really. He'd chased after Rainne for years. God, how many conversations did we have where he asked, "But why doesn't she like me?" like a whiny little bitch. It took everything I had not to hit him upside the head with a book and ask him the same thing about me.

  For the life of me, I could never figure out what he saw in Rainne, other than he couldn't have her. The forbidden fruit tastes so much sweeter.

  I should know.

  Ian pulls out his phone and taps several times. My hand feels lonely without his touch. "Uber will be here in three minutes. You look cold."

  Funny. I don't feel cold. In fact, I'm pretty sure the chilly fall air is the only thing that is keeping me from spontaneous combustion. Until the moment I saw him, I thought I was over him. Totally over him. So over him that I could totally ignore that when he hugged me, I thought I felt a six-pack under his shirt. He'd been fit in high school but had had the body of a boy. I am willing to bet he is all man now. Everywhere.

  Somewhere in the back of my head, the voice of reason tells me I need to stop this right here and now. I'll go with him to get something to eat and catch up. We'll have eggs. We'll talk. And then I'll go back to my life and him to his. That's it. End of story.

  I've worked too hard to be independent to get sucked back into a Cedarwood Cyclone now. There is no room for Cedarwood shit in my new life. Ian McCallister doesn't belong in Boston, and I am going to tell him in no uncertain terms that this is a one night thing. One night. Hmmm ...

  We could do a lot in one night.

  

  Ian

  As the Uber pulls up, I notice Rio looking at me strangely. Before I can ask her if she's okay, she opens the door and climbs in the back seat. Her ass in leather pants. Holy shit. So many thoughts rush through my head, most of them originating from the South Pole. It takes every ounce of will power I have not to bite it.

  What the hell is Rio doing in leather pants? She's not a leather pants kind of girl. She's not a dance on the bar kind of girl either, and if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it happened. That is a memory that will keep me happy for a long time.

  I slide in and glance at the woman sitting next to me, trying to process this information. The amount of alcohol I've ingested tonight is making all of this quite difficult.

  Rio Pascucci wearing leather pants and dancing on a bar.

  Damn.

  Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I reach out and place my hand on her knee. Thanks to the leather pants, her leg feels buttery smooth and sinful, and a whole bunch of things I should not be thinking about flood my mind. This is Rio. And she's not that kind of girl. Plus, well, that other issue.

  I glance up and see her looking at my hand. "Sorry. I …" I can't finish as I slide my hand down to the seat in between us.

  "Where are we going?" Rio looks out the window.

  "There's a diner right by my apartment. Killer omelets."

  She doesn't turn to look at me. "I'm not that hungry. For food. Why don't we just go back to your place?"

  "Fine by me. I can't wait to catch up with you. How did I not know you're here in Boston?" Wait? Was she talking about food or did I miss something?

  I swear I hear her sigh slightly. "Because that's the way it is. You know that better than anyone."

  "What do you mean?" Perhaps I'm a bit buzzed, but I have no idea what she's talking about or why she's being so cryptic. Did she hit on me or is she trying to get rid of me? "I tried to find you when we went to college. You disappeared. What happened to your Facebook page? Weren't you on MySpace?"

  "Ian, no one's on MySpace. And I deleted my Facebook account years ago."

  "Why? How can people find you?"

  "That assumes I want to be found. But enough about me. What are you doing here? I mean, in Boston. I didn't think you'd ever leave Ohio."

  "I'm a third-year resident at Boston Center Hospital. It was the best residency placement for what I want. Plus, I know I'll end up back in Ohio, so it was a chance to live somewhere different for a few years."

  She turns, eyes wide. "Are you shitting me? You're Dr. McCallister?"

  "I always said I wanted to be a doctor." I don't know why this is shocking to her. It was always the plan.

  "Yeah, you were also going to play for the Cincinnati Reds too, and I was going to be a Rockette. You barely passed high school chemistry!"

  "That's because I was distracted by your sister. But I had a wonderful tutor, so I got through high school. Once I was in college, it all really started clicking. I made a plan and I stuck to it. Turns out, I'm more than just looks. I have a brain too." This makes her smile that wide grin that lights up her whole face. She's fucking beautiful.

  "What about you? What are you up to?"

  Before Rio can answer, the car stops and we exit. My apartment is in a mid-century building. "I hope you don't mind. I'm on the fifth floor."

  I see Rio give a dismayed glance toward her feet where she's wearing what can only be considered fuck-me shoes. Those shoes with those pants. What the hell is she doing? Doesn't she know what kind of vibe she's putting out there?

  We make it about two flights before she stops and takes the shoes off. Without them, she's as diminutive in stature as I remember. Rainne's a bit taller than Rio, which was always a source of tension, not that the girls needed more reasons to fight.

  Reaching my door, I unlock it and step aside for Rio to enter. "Always the gentle
man," she says with a smile as she saunters past. A sexy smile. A seductive smile. An ass shake.

  Try as I might, my alcohol-addled brain doesn't want to remember the innocent Rio in pigtails on the first day of school, holding Evan's hand as we walked into kindergarten. It doesn't associate this sultry Rio with the awkward Rio when she got chunky and her skin was a mess, right before she hit puberty. I can't even seem to recall her the night Rainne and I broke up.

  All I can see is this woman in front of me, and all I can think about is peeling off those leather pants and asking her to put the shoes back on.

  I am so screwed.

  Chapter 7

  Rio

  I may be a little drunk. There's a good possibility I'm a lot drunk. I mean, I'm about to have sex with a man I haven't seen in over ten years. No biggie, right? I can love him and leave him. I mean, it's not like it would be our first time.

  That makes me giggle. He still doesn't know we had sex before, and I'm not going to tell him.

  "What's so funny?" He's moved into the small kitchen and is pouring a glass of water from the filter pitcher.

  "Oh, just thinking about something. Got anything to drink?" There's a tiny little voice in the back of my head, my only remaining sober brain cells, telling me that this may not be the best idea I've ever had. I ignore them. What do they know?

  Whatever. It's just sex. I'm sure Ian has a lot of it. With girls like Trisha. Not like Trisha, actually Trisha. It's okay. I've had a lot of sex too. Well, not a lot but enough. Ian hands me a glass of water. Suddenly I'm pissed. Why would he sleep with someone like Trisha and not me? Why was I never good enough for him? You know what, Ian McCallister, Doctor Ian McCallister, I'm going to make you pay for it all now.