Something in his expression, or maybe his white-knuckle grip on the gearshift knob, roused her concern. She put her hand on his forearm. “Everything okay?”
Fuck patience. “Everything’s fine. I’m just hungry for yo—”
“Me, too. I’m starving.” She smiled and leaned back in her seat. “I skipped lunch today because we were so busy, which entitles me to go a little crazy for dinner. DeShay’s chicken-fried chicken has been calling to me all afternoon.”
Okay. Lesson learned. No fucking with patience. The woman needed a decent meal. What he had planned for them tonight required energy and stamina. “That sounds good. Not as good as my first choice,” he added under his breath as he started the truck.
“How about you? Busy day?”
He laughed—not a particularly happy sound—and steered through the narrow downtown streets toward DeShay’s Diner. “Yeah, right. Nonstop action. I barely had time to breathe.”
“Hmm. My friend Ginny called me earlier today and told me something about an emergency rescue this morning. I heard you came roaring onto the scene, sirens blaring, and saved the day.”
A quick glance in her direction confirmed his suspicion. She was biting her lip to hold back laughter. He felt an answering grin tug at the corners of his mouth. “Ms. Van Hendler called in a panic, screaming about her ‘baby’ being stuck on the roof. Where I come from, you take a call like that very seriously. I rushed to the scene. Hell yes, I had the siren blaring.”
She laughed. Not a chuckle or a giggle, but an uncontrolled laugh that built and built until she had to wipe away the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Finally, she got a hold of herself, enough to say, “I can’t believe Cooper and Rusty didn’t speak up.”
Had the tables been turned, he probably wouldn’t have either, but he shot back with, “Cooper and Rusty are assholes.”
That pitched her into another fit of hilarity. He waited, patiently, until her laughter subsided.
“So…” She sniffed, giggled, and tried again. “Whoo, sorry. So, did you rescue Ms. V’s baby?”
“Yes, I did rescue her ugly, smelly, foul-tempered baby,” he replied. “Don’t ask me why because that cat is a damn menace.” He pulled into a curbside spot in front of DeShay’s accompanied by a soundtrack of her giggles.
He cut the engine, sat back, and enjoyed the sight of her laughing.
“My hero,” she said, when she caught him watching. Her eyes stilled brimmed with amusement. “What an ordeal. You deserve a medal.”
“No shit. The mangy thing ripped me to shreds.” He showed her his wrist, where several thin red scratches crisscrossed his skin. “That’s the thanks I got for my trouble.”
“Aww. Let me kiss it better.” She cupped his wrist in her hand and gently brushed her lips over the scratches.
The gesture was a joke. The effect? Not so much. Every other part of his body woke and prepared for a turn under her lips. She must have sensed his nerve endings snapping to attention, because she raised her head and, for one silent beat, simply stared into his eyes. Then she drew in a deep breath and said, “We could skip dinner.”
Tempting, but no. He shook his head. “You’re starving, remember?”
“I have food at home. I could put together a salad or something…after.”
“You’re not craving a salad, you’re craving chicken-fried chicken. And I intend to satisfy every craving tonight. Starting with dinner.” With that, he opened his door and exited the truck before she could change his mind. By the time he came around to her side, she had the door open and those fantasy-provoking sandals perched on the step. They’d be perched on his shoulders before the night ended, if he had his way.
DeShay’s Diner boasted a brisk Friday evening business. Clientele ran the gamut. A cursory sweep of the white-tiled, red-upholstered interior revealed several families, a couple groups of high-school kids, a cluster of old guy “regulars” in a back booth, and more than a few couples.
The hostess, a young woman wearing black eyeliner and a plenitude of thick silver jewelry, including an eyebrow ring and tragus studs, greeted Melody with a squeal and a hug before showing them to a window booth and handing them menus. Her perky, “Y’all have a good dinner,” seemed hugely at odds with the Gothic vampire look she took such pains to present.
“Another relative? Because I’ve got to say, I don’t see the resemblance.”
“I used to babysit her when I was a teenager.” Her sigh had a where-does-the-time-go quality. “Believe it or not, as a little girl she looked just like Tinker Bell. I’d dress her up, spray her hair out to beauty pageant proportions, and we’d pretend to be princesses.”
“After seeing your nieces tonight, I believe it.”
“Yeah, in hindsight, it’s entirely possible I went a bit overboard.”
Her reminiscences put an uncomfortable thought in his head. “You know every single person in this diner, don’t you, Bluelick?”
The question seemed to take her by surprise. She blinked, then straightened and looked around the room. “Yes, pretty much—at least by sight if not by name. Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s just unusual, to me. You can go an entire day without seeing a stranger. Most people don’t live in such a small world.”
Her spine went a notch straighter. “And wouldn’t want to?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but I’m pretty sure I heard you think it.”
True, but admitting the fact served no useful purpose. Thankfully, a slim, green-eyed redhead approached the table right then, followed by a taller woman who might have been blond—he really couldn’t say because he couldn’t see past the message printed in big neon letters across the front of her tank top. Okay, technically there was nothing printed on her tank top, but it still managed to scream, HEY WORLD, THESE ARE MY TITS with all the subtlety of a flashing billboard.
Melody rescued him from an awkward, staring silence. “Hey, Ginny. LouAnn. Have you met Fire Chief Bradley?”
The redhead flashed the kind of smile a person couldn’t help but return—the kind with dimples on both sides—and winked at him. “Sure have. LouAnn and I met you at Rawley’s a while back. You remember, don’t you, LouAnn?”
“Mmm-hmm,” LouAnn purred and sent him the kind of smile that made him want to slap a mag-lock on his zipper. Especially since everybody knew LouAnn dated Junior, and Junior had a gun, which, by recent accounts, he wasn’t afraid to use.
“Nice to see you both again. Call me Josh.”
The redhead tipped her head to one side, crossed her toned arms over her reassuringly normal-sized chest, and braced a hip against Melody’s side of the booth. “Nice to see you, too, Josh. I heard you dealt with quite an inferno this afternoon.”
Inquiring blue eyes swung his way. “You did?” Melody said. “How’d I miss this?”
“By inferno, she means a flaming bag of dog shit some delinquent left on Mr. Cranston’s porch. I was on my break, walking back from Jiffy Java, when I heard him hollering ‘fire.’ I ran over, assessed the situation like the trained professional I am, and then, using my lightning-fast reflexes, tossed my iced double-shot on the blaze.”
“I hope Cranky Cranston thanked you,” Ginny said.
“He expressed some disappointment about the world in general, and what it was coming to when a man couldn’t feel safe in his own home.”
Ginny’s sharp green eyes rolled heavenward. “The man ought to take a burning bush—or a burning bag, in his case—as a message. I suggest he start picking up after his Saint Bernard when he walks that monster around town. Somebody’s sick of his shit.”
“I have a fairly good idea who took it upon himself to light a fire under Cranston.” Josh homed in on a corner booth where a group of teenage boys held court. Smack in the center sat Justin Buchanan.
Ginny, LouAnn, and Melody turned their heads to follow his gaze. Justin stared back, all defiance and challenge, then wagged his brows at Ginny and lic
ked his lips.
She sneered and turned her back on him. “Oh, Justin, king of the shit-bagging Buchanans, if only I was ten years younger…and brain-dead.”
Melody covered her mouth with her hand. LouAnn cracked up. Josh didn’t miss the way Justin continued to stare a hole through Ginny, his face turning an angry red as he correctly inferred his charming invitation had been rejected.
A hothead. A well-connected hothead with a sense of entitlement. Awesome. Hell, yes, he would be keeping an eye on him.
“Josh, it was nice to see you again. Mel, save me a seat at church on Sunday, ’kay?”
“Will do,” Melody promised. “Have fun, girls.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” LouAnn called back as they sauntered away.
Ginny raised a brow and grinned at them. “Which leaves your options wide open.”
…
“You do realize our date is going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.” Melody took a bite of her dinner and smiled at Josh. His white shirt set off his bronze skin and the sun-burnished highlights in his hair. Who could blame her for staring?
He smiled back and shrugged. “Not much else to talk about in a town this size, I guess.”
“How are you finding Bluelick?”
“It’s fine. For now.”
“But?” she prompted and sipped her chardonnay.
“But…it’s not for me, long-term. I miss action. I miss challenge.”
“You’re appreciated here, you know. Ms. Van Hendler will be singing your praises for rescuing Rocky, because for her, he really is her baby. A thank-you may never pass Mr. Cranston’s stingy lips, but deep down, he’s glad someone came when he called.”
“They’d be just as happy, maybe more, with Cooper or Rusty or someone else born and raised here.”
She took another bite of chicken and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. “We’re really not as insular as you think. Bluelick’s not a cult. We welcome newcomers.”
“That’s not what I was trying to imply.” He raised his beer, swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. She found the vulnerable area in his otherwise rock-solid body strangely alluring. “It’s just not a good fit.”
Exactly the kind of answer a man offered when he’d made up his mind but didn’t want to have to justify the decision. For whatever reason, she felt compelled to stick up for her hometown. “Give Bluelick a chance instead of writing us off as small and dull. We have a rich history, natural beauty, no traffic, pollution, or crime to speak of…all the charm and friendliness of a small town. But we’re not in the sticks, you know. Lexington is only forty minutes away, and Cincinnati just a few hours more. You won’t find a better place to settle down and raise a family. I love it here. I honestly can’t imagine living anywhere else. I’d never want to.”
“It’s your home, and that’s an important concept for some people. I’m more about the opportunity. Bluelick presented an important one for me at this stage in my career, but I’m not ready to top out just yet. Heading up the Bluelick FD is not where I see myself in five years.”
So much for selling him on Bluelick. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Another one?”
“Yes. Why do you call me Bluelick?”
A baffled expression drifted across his face. “Weren’t you Miss Bluelick?”
“Um…yeah…my senior year of high school. I hardly consider the crown and sash my life’s defining accomplishment. At least I hope not, but my real point is, you don’t sound as if you think too much of this town. And you’ve given me the nickname. Should I be insulted?”
He placed his fork on his plate and met her stare. “I call you Bluelick because, to me, you’re the best damn thing about this place. Something tells me I’d feel the same way no matter where we’d met. Your nickname could have just as easily been London, or Paris, or Cincinnati.”
The statement made her laugh. “You might be the only person on earth to mention London, Paris, and Cincinnati, Ohio, in the same breath. I know you love Cinci, but—”
“Love’s a strong word. We moved there when I was fourteen, and yeah, there are people and places I miss, but I’m not desperate to move back. Opportunity factors as much as anything, and there was no opportunity there.”
“Oh my God.” She barely stopped herself from pointing at him with her fork. “You sound just like Roger.”
“How so?”
“He grew up here, of course, and then went to school in Manhattan, then did some time in DC, and now he’s back in Bluelick. He can spout lots and lots of reasons why none of those places is a good fit. Bluelick’s too small and doesn’t offer him the kind of challenges he trained for. DC is much too political. New York is perfect, except it’s too far away from his family. Between all his preferences and requirements, he’s fixed things so he can never be happy.”
“Hey, I’m not saying I’m unhappy. I’m just…not ready to stake a claim to any particular place right yet. I don’t know Roger, but if he is unhappy, I find it interesting he’s chosen to be unhappy right here. Near you.”
“I have a suspicion he’ll move back to New York before too long. He’s talked to me about it.”
“Trying to convince you to rethink your ‘I’d never want to live anywhere else’ position?”
“God, no.” Clumsy, Melody. Now he thinks you and Roger broke up because Roger wants to move to New York and you don’t. She couldn’t hold back a brittle laugh. “The whole time we were engaged he never asked me to make a move with him, and he’s not about to start now. After finishing his JD/MBA, instead of coming home like we planned, he sprang it on me he’d accepted an internship in Washington. A lot of women might have expected that bit of news to come with a wedding ring and an apartment in Georgetown, but I got a shiny new car and a request I drive up to see him whenever we could line up our weekends. We kept that up for years. Now granted, we talked on the phone almost every day, but still, trust me, Roger has not suddenly decided life in New York would be perfect with me in it. Perish the thought.”
“You wouldn’t want to go, anyway.”
“I wouldn’t. I grew up here. My family is here, and most important, I’m happy here. In retrospect, I’m just as glad I didn’t make a move. One mistake I avoided. Roger and I weren’t meant to be, and changing locations doesn’t change that fundamental fact.”
“What would?”
“Nothing.”
“Really? I can’t help but be curious, because I heard you two split over his—”
“I know what you heard.” Hadn’t she gone to the trouble of spreading the whole stupid rumor about their incompatible sexual appetites? A couple of high school sweethearts didn’t end an engagement in a town like Bluelick without generating some gossip. At the time, the story had seemed like a good way to prune a grapevine already growing a few tendrils of speculation about Roger’s sexual orientation, and she really hadn’t cared if she came off looking a bit prudish. Now, however, she bristled. “I’ve already told you not to believe everything you hear. Our breakup was not the result of inflexibility on my part. It wasn’t my choice, at least not the way you think. He’s…” She snapped her mouth closed. Jeez, she’d almost blurted out the truth.
“He’s what?” Josh leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “This is where you explain it’s all his fault, right?”
His cynical smile put her mouth back in gear. “No. Fault isn’t the issue, but if it must be assigned, I’ll own my share. Here’s the thing—people talk about how relationships require give and take, and putting your partner’s needs ahead of your own at times, but they’re less likely to warn you there’s such a thing as compromising too much, and sacrificing too much. Once you’ve invested to a certain point, you feel like an idiot if you don’t see it through. You lose sight of common sense. I learned those lessons the hard way. I plan to keep my personal life very, very casual for a while. I’m not getting seriously involved again unless everything fal
ls into place simply and easily. When a relationship takes too much compromise and sacrifice, that’s a red flag—it’s doomed.”
Silence followed her observation. She shut her mouth and quickly replayed the conversation—no, diatribe—in her head. Call the bellboy, because she’d just unloaded every single piece of her emotional baggage right there in front of the poor man. He must have been really hungry. Nothing else explained why he hadn’t run for the door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with…all this. I’m the last person who should be spouting relationship advice.”
“Bluelick, you never bore me. Dessert?”
Probably not—at least not the dessert she’d assumed was on the menu when he’d arrived at her door tonight. Clearly he wasn’t in a hurry to get her alone anymore. The greasy weight of chicken-fried chicken smothered in disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach. Big surprise. Prattling on about your ex isn’t the way to kick off a night of seduction. The least she could do was let him off the hook gracefully. “No, thanks. I’m good. I’m sure you have to get up early tomorrow, and take care of a billion things.”
He signaled the waitress for the check. “I don’t have to get up early. Why don’t we go for a drive?”
A drive? That didn’t make any sense. “Where did you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted as he signed off on the check. “Take me to your favorite spot.” He looked and hit her with a slow, challenging smile. “Surprise me.”
Chapter Seven
The drive idea was smooth. Much smoother than the minefield of a conversation he’d somehow led them into back at the diner. What had happened between her and Roger was none of his damn business. He already knew the rumor he’d heard about their breakup was complete and utter bullshit—he’d figured that out Tuesday night, around the time he’d had her perched on the exam table, trying to use his tongue as a personal toy. She enjoyed sex, wasn’t shy about giving or taking pleasure, and was game for anything.
That’s all he needed to know. That’s all he wanted to know, his head insisted, but his gut knew better. He wanted some sort of confirmation she wasn’t still hung up on her ex. He wanted to be sure when he kissed her, or touched her, or made her scream, it wouldn’t be Roger’s name on her lips. So he’d pressed the issue. But instead of getting the real reason for the break, he’d only succeeded in irritating them both.
Light Her Fire Page 7