Edge pulled my chair, with me still in it, away from the table and next to him where I wouldn’t get in the way. “Sit right here, Lily. You might learn a thing or two from my technique.”
The only thing I was learning so far was that beer combined with nachos created temporary IQ loss.
Bootie shoved the baskets of fries and chicken away and stood over both men. He clutched their fists and raised his voice to the crowd gathered around us. “Hey! Quiet. I’m not going to start ’em until you settle down.”
When nothing happened, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a high-pitched whistle. “Shut up!”
That did the trick. “Now, here are the rules. Keep your butts in your chairs. No illegal topping. I don’t want to see anyone’s arm broken this time, Edge.”
“Aww. You’re taking all the fun out of it, Bootie,” said Edge. Andrew stared at his arm and gulped. Bootie sent me an imperceptible wink.
“And here is the final rule. No one, I mean it, no one in this room tells my wife what’s going on. Do you hear me? I promised Lori this would become a family restaurant. If she knew we were hosting another wrestling tournament she would be on a bus back home to her mother. So, none of this gets talked about outside the restaurant.”
“Sure, Bootie. What happens at Lori’s stays at Lori’s,” one of the mechanics from Auto Doc garage said.
Bootie put his hand back on the two fists. “Are you boys ready?”
Andrew focused on the two fists and sat up straighter. “Yes.”
Edge slouched down. “I guess so. But someone tell me what happens in the game. I don’t want to miss the inning.”
“Here,” someone across the room shouted. They turned one of the television screens toward our table. “You can watch it while you wrestle.”
Edge sent him a thumbs-up. “Great idea. Thanks, Vance.”
I couldn’t believe the spectacle the match had turned into. The room had turned from a loud, cheesy-fries Friday-night hangout, to a center-ring match at the local arena. If this was what a little arm-wrestling match did to Truhart, what was a real game like?
“On your mark. Get set.” Bootie dropped his hands. “Go!”
The wrestling match began.
Neither fist traveled far for the first minute or two. Andrew scrunched up his reddening face and his lips stuck to the top of his teeth. His hand shook and the faint shadow of a dark stain appeared in his armpit.
Edge, on the other hand, looked as if he couldn’t care less. He stared at the game on the television. When someone struck out he said, “Man, they should have traded that guy when they had the chance.”
With a smile on his face, Bootie reprimanded Edge for talking.
To the rest of the room, Edge looked like he didn’t care, but I had a closer view. The muscles in his arm were tense and his beard twitched above his jaw. When Andrew’s fist took a little ground, Edge’s eyes flashed beneath his lowered lashes. He did nothing to regain the lost ground. It was if he was waiting for the moment.
For my own part, I sat on my hands and forced myself not to kick Andrew, or help Edge. I stared at the two hands, practically willing Edge’s hand to move. I would have tickled Andrew if I thought I could get away with it. But thinking about touching Andrew made my skin crawl.
Shouts of protest erupted from the crowd as Andrew’s arm took another inch of territory. But Edge didn’t care. He continued to stare at the television. With each passing moment, it looked as if Andrew was going to win.
When Andrew’s arm pushed Edge’s fist even farther toward the table, I could stand it no longer. “Come on, Edge.”
My voice seemed to wake Edge up. “What’s that, Lily?”
“Don’t let him win,” I hissed.
He turned his head my way. “You really care what happens in a silly arm-wrestling match?”
I looked into his beautiful gray eyes. “Yeah. I care.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to win.”
Andrew was getting annoyed with our side conversation. He tried to say something, but he was out of breath from exerting himself. Bootie pretended he didn’t hear us.
Aubrey Vanderbeek curled her lip in premature triumph. “Maybe you should pay attention to your arm instead of your little gimpy trainer, Callahan.”
“Do you like it when people call you that?” Edge asked me. He spoke to me as if no one else were in the room. We could have been having a candlelight dinner for two, it felt so intimate.
I shook my head and never took my eyes off him. “No.”
“Neither do I.” He gazed at his arm and appeared to take an interest in the match for the first time since it started. Slowly his arm shifted in the other direction. While Andrew sputtered and huffed, Edge gained leverage until Andrew’s wrist was an inch from the table.
The crowd was out of control. Even J.D. Hardy, who had watched, emotionless, from the very start of the interchange, was cheering for Edge now. Andrew reached out and grasped the table with his other hand. It wobbled as he struggled for leverage.
“Now, Andrew, that’s illegal,” Bootie said quickly. But he was drowned out by the sound of the crowd. It didn’t matter anyway. Even holding the table wasn’t helping Andrew Vanderbeek.
Edge was millimeters from winning when the table suddenly shifted under us. All the food that Bootie had piled in the corner slid towards Andrew. Andrew and Edge’s fists separated just as the table did a nose dive. Cheesy fries and nachos flew and Andrew’s chair toppled backwards. He landed on the floor with a pile of nachos in his lap.
A shocked silence was followed by peals of laughter. Andrew scooted away from the food and flicked the salsa off his crotch. Eventually his sister helped him off the floor.
“You did that on purpose. You cheaters!” Andrew yelled.
“I told you not to hold the table, Vanderbeek. Some of them are wobbly,” Bootie said, signaling to a waitress to clean up the mess. “This one must have been one of the tables Dylan Schraeder tossed at you last summer, J.D.”
J.D. tilted his chin. “Must be.”
Andrew stood, brushing off his pants, missing a French fry in his fly. Edge pointed and Bootie thought that was hilarious.
Aubrey took Andrew’s shoulder. He cradled his hand. “We should have never stopped by this place. Too close to Truhart.”
The tiny lady with the honeycomb coat pushed her way through the crowd and headed toward the door. “I tried to tell you that before we got here. Come on, your dad is waiting for us.”
Aubrey led the way, almost knocking over several patrons as she made her way to the door. Without looking back she said, “This place is falling apart like the rest of the town. Come on, Mommy, we’ll pick up another shirt for Andrew on the way out.”
My mouth dropped open as it dawned on me that this tiny lady was their mother. Elizabeth grinned at my expression and put an arm around my shoulder. “Reeba Sweeney’s husband, Roger Vanderbeek, is rather tall.”
“Seriously, Edge. You totally could have beaten that prick in the first second,” a young man wearing a Red Wings baseball hat said.
Edge helped the waitress clean up the fries on the floor and lifted the table back in place, making sure to screw it properly into the pedestal. When it was stable, he took the fresh napkins and condiments from the waitress and passed them around our table.
“We’ll get you some replacements for those chicken wings and cheesy fries,” Bootie said, intercepting a basket of cheese-smothered nachos that was meant for another table and placing it in front of us.
“Want some sriracha, J.D.?” asked Edge.
J.D. offered the basket to Edge. “Have a seat and join us.”
Edge sat down. “Don’t mind if I do.” He drizzled the sauce all over his nachos. When he was finished he picked up a piece that stayed attached to a huge melted wedge of cheese. He stretched it above his head until the cheese string broke. Then he held it up to me. “Want some, Lily?”
I opened my mouth
to tell him that it was going to go straight to his gut, when I froze.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Do you?”
I blinked, unable to answer. The music was playing, people were talking, and no one seemed to care about my calamitous and very public accident. My mind was registering a very important fact. Edge Callahan had just single-handedly taken all the attention off my mortifying crash. I don’t know how he did it. Or even if he did it on purpose. But the twinkle in his eye made me wonder.
Deciding that I wasn’t interested in the nachos, Edge turned his attention back to his food. I watched as he devoured, in one bite, a piece that was bigger than his fist. It really should be gross. A turnoff for any proper woman who had been raised with table manners. But it wasn’t. It was bold. And masculine. And incredibly . . . crazy, the way it made my senses reel.
My heart had just shifted into his cheese-covered hands. He licked his fingers and I was a goner.
LESSON THIRTEEN
Find a Partner
Arcade Fire played softly from the speaker and the headlights lit up the road in front of us as Edge drove me back home at the end of the night. I stared at his profile in the dim interior of the truck, and waited for my heart to calm down. Strange to think that a remote control had changed everything . . . Dinner with new friends. A baseball game on television. Then a rain shower in Detroit.
Edge’s run-in with Aubrey and Andrew Vanderbeek had magically derailed my downfall.
“What are you looking at?”
The answer was too trite to put into a word. Instead I asked him the question that had been on my mind for the past two hours. “Did you do all that on purpose?”
He made a face. “Usually I eat that much when a game is on. I am not very good at—what do you health nuts call it? Purposeful eating?”
“You know what I mean.”
He still played dumb. It was a trick he pulled often. Pretending he didn’t understand a direct question. He was very good at it. But I was catching on.
I twisted toward him until the seat belt caught me. “You caused a scene inside Lori’s to take everyone’s mind off what happened on Just Lose It.”
“What are you going on about?” He reached for the radio. “You want to hear some Led Zeppelin?”
I grabbed his wrist and he acted like I had taken away his puppy dog. “Whaa—”
“I know that trick, Edge. Change the subject with music. You do it a lot.”
“Me? I don’t know any tricks. I really just like music.” He reached again for the radio and I poked his armpit to tickle him the same way I did when we arm wrestled.
He squirmed. “Hey, that’s not fair.”
“Who said anything about fairness?” The truck hit a pothole and Edge slowed. Reply Lake was on my right. A vast blackness in the night. “You know, if you’re going to beat me at arm wrestling, you’re going to have to get over being ticklish.”
“I’m not ticklish. Just sensitive.”
“Right.” I hovered my hand over his armpit and grinned. I was feeling loose and silly after two beers and a reprieve from disgrace.
Edge kept his eyes on the road. “You’d better be careful, Lily. Remember what happened last time you tickled me like that?”
Remember? Oh yeah. I remembered what happened last time all too well. Heat shot straight through me at the memory of his lips on mine and the feel of his rock-hard body.
I took a deep breath and deliberately ran the tip of my finger up his wrist. “Ticklish. Ha! What kind of big strong macho guy are you?”
I couldn’t recall the last time I had teased a man this way. I had never been the flirty type. Some new woman was temporarily inhabiting my body and I was happy to let her do so.
My finger continued up his arm. I traced the outline of a vein on his wrist, and moved to the soft hair on his forearm. He sucked in his breath. He hadn’t bothered to put on his coat, so it was easy and all too tempting for me. The palm of my hand brushed across his triceps. Pushing his sleeve up farther, my fingers circled his bicep. I licked my lips and wished I were brave enough to use my tongue.
Edge’s hands clutched the wheel. He stared straight ahead and said nothing. Night shadows crossed his face and his expression was blank.
I faltered.
Maybe I had been wrong about his feelings for me. Maybe he wasn’t interested in my advances. Compared to the women he had been with, I was probably boring and awkward. And there was my brace. I had just had surgery a little more than eight weeks ago. Was I seriously considering fooling around so soon? How was that going to work with my knee encased in metal and Velcro? I could take it off, but the logistics of sex might be a bit tricky. I dropped my hand and clutched it in my lap.
The headlights of the pickup truck bounced off a house in front of us. For a moment I was disoriented. Then I realized we were parked in front of the house that had been Ivy’s. Edge’s now. He pushed a button on the visor and the garage door opened.
The music died and the truck was silent. A vein in my neck throbbed madly against the collar of my coat. Edge cut the engine and exited the vehicle without a word. His shadow bounced off the hood. The beam of the headlights illuminated his face. His expression was stern as he marched to the passenger door and swung it open. Was he angry?
“I can walk across the road if you want . . .” My voice trailed off as he scooped me up like ice cream and carried me into the house.
Once inside, he kicked the door closed. He put me down and stood in front of me, arms at his sides.
Other than a light outside on the deck facing the lake, the room was dim. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. A smell of sawdust and freshly cut wood filled the air.
A gust of wind outside and the sound of our breathing filled the room.
“Well?” His voice was hoarse.
“Do you want me to apologize?” I asked.
“For what? Making me horny?”
My heart started racing twice as fast as it had a moment ago.
I swallowed and waited for a cue from him.
“I’m warning you, Lily. If you tickle me again, I might react like I did the last time.”
“Oh?” Confidence returned like a shot of adrenaline. I raised my hand until it was near his shoulder. He stared at it. I could feel his body heat in the air between us. With deliberate slowness, I moved my hand closer . . . and closer. Until it lingered between his arm and shoulder.
I let my fingers fall, and traced along the line of his upper arm. He shuddered.
It was nice to be in control. My turn to hold back now. I stayed as calm as he had during the wrestling match with Andrew. “Did you know that this area commonly called the armpit is technically the axilla?”
“Hmm.” His voice was like a soft growl.
“This area contains the axillary vein and artery.”
“You don’t say.” He stepped closer. His lower body was a hairsbreadth from mine. “Tell me more.”
“Well, it also allows unimpeded access to your heart, since at the underarm the rib cage no longer provides protection to the chest cavity.”
His head lowered. I could feel his breath hovering over my neck. “What else?”
“Most people just think of this as the sweat gland, but it produces pheromones that are crucial to how humans attract each other. Maybe even more than the genitals.”
His hand rose to my hair and held it away from my neck. “Who knew BO could be sexy.”
I stifled a giggle. “Hopefully it’s more subtle than that.”
“And why am I so ticklish?” His lips dropped to my neck and he gave me tiny butterfly kisses. I arched my neck to give him better access.
“Some scientists think we are ticklish in places that aren’t usually touched by others. The soles of the feet. And here.” I was still holding back. Barely touching him. Enjoying the building tension.
“You’re making me hot with all your talk about medical stuff.” The soft pressure of his lips was doing a whole other pheromone
dance that made me want to scream. The neck is a powerfully sensitive erogenous zone. Edge seemed quite aware of it.
“So soft,” he whispered against my tender skin. I giggled.
“That’s funny?” he asked without lifting his mouth.
My tongue went in search of his ear. “No.”
“I found it. You’re ticklish there.” He rubbed his beard back and forth and I threw back my head, unable to keep from laughing.
“No. I’m just . . .” Happy, I wanted to say.
“Everyone is ticklish. I’ll find your spot if it kills me . . .” His beard felt like coarse velvet as it trailed down my neck.
At last, he lifted his lips and I finally inhaled. Except for my ragged breath, the room was silent.
We stood without touching now. Poised at the line. The tension in the air was like the beginning of a race. Runners waiting for the starting gun.
On your mark . . . Get set . . .
I pulled the trigger and reached out to tickle him.
He reacted like a sprinter off the block. He pulled me toward him and captured my lips. I buried my fingers in his thick hair. He tasted like fire and beer. A brew that made me crazy. Soft. Hard. Warm. Slick. More.
Our lips were busy, but my hands wanted in on the act. One by one I unbuttoned his shirt, letting my hand graze the carpet of his chest. While I admired the cashmere softness, his roughened hands went on their own adventure. We were like a couple of explorers who had been waiting for the chance to cross into new territory. Each unchartered region was thrilling and awakened the hunger for more.
He was hard and just as excited as I was. I almost forgot my knee as I curled my leg around his body in an attempt to get closer. Before I realized my mistake, Edge was there, lifting me in his arms and holding me close.
“I hate how awkward I am . . .” I said breathlessly.
“Not awkward. Just a little fragile, Lily Bud.” He carried me across the room to the kitchen. I never thought for a moment that he would drop me.
When he set me down on the counter, I jumped at the unexpected chill. “You have granite now.”
Fit for You Page 16