Steamy: A Romance Anthology That Sizzles

by Johnson, Cat

  “Sure. I’d be happy to play a few songs.” Her smile faded, making me wonder why someone with her track record wouldn’t be excited about a little extra exposure. Especially in a place where people worshipped the ground her cowboy boots used to walk over.

  “Friday night? Would that work for you?”

  “That would work just fine.” She reached for the bag. Her nails were short, the way she’d always kept them. She never liked using a guitar pick… one of the many tidbits of info I’d filed away, reminding me how well I used to know the girl she’d been.

  “You sure?” I lowered my voice, trying to find my way back to the easy way conversation used to flow between us.

  “Of course. I’m thrilled to be back in Swallow Springs and have the chance to work on my next album.” The words coming out of her mouth didn’t gel with her expression.

  “Hey, it’s me, remember? What’s wrong?”

  She pulled her lower lip into her mouth. The thin veil she’d always used to hide her feelings fell to the side and for a moment her eyes lost their too-bright shine. “It’s complicated.”

  Complicated. That was a word I knew way too well. Before I had a chance to dig a little deeper, the front door opened. The jangling of the bell chased away any chance of further conversation.

  “You coming?” Jesse poked his head through the doorway. “Mom said she’s not leaving until she gets a hug from her favorite daughter.”

  “That would sound a lot better if I weren’t her only daughter.” Morgan swept the cups into her hands, along with the bag. “I’d better get home. Tell Cassie I’ll plan on Friday night. Seven o’clock okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “It was nice to see you, Ryder.”

  Nice.

  How had she gone from thinking I hung the fucking moon to barely being able to make small talk? And what the hell was I willing to do about it?

  2

  Ryder

  I hung around the Lovebird long after my shift ended. Cassie finally forced me to leave after I spent an extra hour scrubbing the fry baskets clean and polishing the grill until I could see my sad-ass reflection. I didn’t want to go home to an empty house. Not tonight. Seeing Morgan dredged up the kind of feelings I’d done my best to avoid for the past several years.

  She looked good.

  Damn good.

  Way too good for me.

  But with no other excuses, I left the cafe and turned toward home. The goose that had been guarding the sidewalk met me by my truck. Not even he could cheer me up tonight.

  I handed over the berries I’d saved for him. Damn bird had been following me around for months now, and as much as I’d love for him to head north for the summer, on some weird level I appreciated the companionship.

  “See you later, Goose.”

  He squawked in reply and choked down the rest of the berries. No matter how fast I drove to the house, he’d be there waiting. In no rush to get home, I took the long way. So what if I drove down the street where Morgan’s folks lived? Technically, it was on the way.

  Kind of.

  The porch light burned bright, the way it always had. I let my truck idle a few houses down. Back when Jesse and I used to hang out, I spent plenty of time in the small three-bedroom ranch. Enough to know which window belonged to Morgan’s bedroom.

  I was tempted to walk up the drive, knock on the front door, and see if she wanted to catch up. There were too many things left unsaid between us. But no good would come from that. The playing field had turned. She was a rising star now. She deserved better than me.

  While I sat out front, her latest hit came on the radio. I remembered the first time I heard her working on it, all those years ago. She’d nailed the melody but couldn’t quite get the lyrics. We must have spent a couple of hours under the bleachers that day, tossing ideas back and forth until something clicked. I knew back then she’d make it to Nashville. The only one who didn’t seem to believe it was Morgan.

  I was about to put the truck in gear when a car pulled up. The front door opened, and Morgan came out, her hair piled up on top of her head, her legs encased in a pair of tight-fitting jeans that left little to a guy’s imagination.

  I didn’t want to get caught, so I slid down in my seat, holding my head high enough that I could keep an eye on her but low enough that she wouldn’t see me.

  She’d almost made it to the curb when the damn goose came in for an awkward landing in front of my truck. It tucked its wings against its chest and let out a honk that could be heard on the other side of town. My cheeks spontaneously combusted, even while my blood turned to ice.

  Morgan glanced up.

  “Go home, Goose.” My voice came out in a scratchy whisper. I’d been trying to ditch the bird for weeks, why would it start listening to me now?

  Morgan squinted in my direction.

  My hand gripped the gear shift, ready to slam it into drive and get the hell out of there. What would be worse? Getting caught outside of Morgan’s house or running down a wild goose in the middle of her street?

  Indecision robbed me of the chance to get away. While I struggled to come up with an explanation as to why I was parked outside her parents’ house, she crossed the street and headed straight toward me. The goose flapped its wings and settled on the hood of my truck.

  I slid back up into the seat. “Hey, Morgan. What are you doing here?”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “I live here. Or at least, my folks do. But you already knew that.”

  “Right.” Busted. “I was on my way home from work and came across this guy. I thought he might be hurt so I followed him to make sure he was okay.”

  She wasn’t buying it. I could tell by the way the wrinkles on her forehead deepened. “You followed a goose?”

  “Yeah, but not just any goose. This here’s Goose Fliesman.”

  “The goose has a name?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Her arms crossed over her chest. “I’d love to hear the short version.”

  There wasn’t really a short version. It was a stupid story and wouldn’t make sense even if she heard the whole ordeal. But the urge to flee overrode any rational thought, and the words flew out of my mouth without any plan behind them. “I was playing football during a pick-up game at the park and a bad pass caught him off guard. I took him home, patched him up, and he’s been following me around ever since.”

  She didn’t believe me. I could tell by the way her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead. “Sounds like he’s trailing you, not the other way around.”

  Now or never. If we were every going to move beyond the past, I needed to clear the air between us. “I always knew you’d make it.”

  She tilted her head. Light from the streetlamp caught on her hair, making me want to reach out and touch it, to make sure it was really her standing in front of me and not some vision I’d conjured from my dreams.

  “Morgan, you coming?” A woman in the car across the street yelled out.

  “Shima’s waiting for me. I’d better go.” She met my gaze for a hot second. Long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the gal I used to know so well.

  “You think we can get together while you’re home? Maybe grab a coffee or something?” I cursed at myself even as the words left my mouth.

  “You sure that’s such a good idea?”

  “It’s just a cup of coffee.”

  Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip and she looked over her shoulder at the car sitting at the curb. “I gave up coffee. Heard it stunts your growth.”

  I deserved that, and much more for the way I’d left things. “A beverage of your choice then?”

  She turned, her gaze burning into me. “What are you still doing in Swallow Springs? You used to have such big plans.”

  “Plans change.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say something else, but decided against it.

  “Morgan? Let’s go.” Shima leaned out the window.<
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  I sat there while Morgan crossed the street, climbed in the passenger seat of the car, and took off down the block.

  “Way to go, Goose. You blew it.” The goose looked right at me through the windshield and let out another annoying honk. I eased away from the curb, not wanting to draw any more unwanted attention.

  Though I’d always preferred football to baseball, even I knew that I’d struck out enough when it came to Morgan Yancy. Maybe it was time to give up for good.

  3

  Morgan

  I didn’t want to go out my first night back in town, but Shima had come home from St. Louis, just so we could spend a little time together. Between me touring and recording and her crazy work schedule, we hadn’t seen each other in a couple years. If I wanted to survive my time in Swallow Springs, I needed all the emotional support I could get.

  “What did Ryder say?” Shima asked.

  “Just that it was good to see me and yada yada.” I snugged my arms into my stomach, not enjoying the way the butterflies who’d been on hiatus for five years suddenly decided it was time to flock back to my belly.

  “Have you talked about—”

  “No.”

  “Geez. I was just—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Ryder. Tell me what you’ve been up to in St. Louis.” I hadn’t had many close friends growing up, but Shima and I hit it off the first day we met in Mrs. Sim’s sixth grade. She’d always been more of a talker than me, so I let her carry the conversation through a round of beers and a platter of nachos.

  “What are you working on next?” Shima kept trying to turn the talk to my career, but I didn’t want to think about it, much less talk about it.

  “I’ve got to nail down the first single on the new album I’m putting together.” I was afraid to admit it to anyone, especially myself, but my creative well had dried up. The words and melodies that used to flow so freely had stopped. I hadn’t come up with anything good in years. Not since I moved away from Swallow Springs. Not since I’d moved away from him.

  “You’ll figure it out.” Shima put her hand over mine where it rested on the table. “You should talk to Ryder. I remember the two of you spending hours together writing songs. Maybe he can help.”

  “That was a long time ago.” I slid my hand out from under hers and reached for the bill. “I probably ought to get back.”

  Hopefully my manager was right. Maybe just being back in Swallow Springs would be enough to get the words to flow. I didn’t want or need Ryder’s help. Maybe if things had ended differently between us… but the water over that bridge was way too deep to cross. We’d both moved on, there was no need to revisit the past.

  After Shima dropped me off, I stayed up half the night trying to nail down the right combination. Every time I picked up my guitar, words froze in my throat. The harder I tried to force it, the worse it got.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt then grabbed my old guitar.

  It was time to face the past. Memories I’d stuffed away flooded my mind the closer I got to the high school. A tall fence that hadn’t been there five years ago surrounded the field. I shifted my guitar case to my back then stuck the toe of my boot through a hole and carefully scaled the chain link.

  I’d always been a rule follower, never pushing the boundaries my parents set for me as a teen. The thrill I got when I reached the top of the fence made me wonder why I hadn’t taken more risks when I was younger. Somehow being in forbidden territory, even somewhere as lame as a high school football field, gave me a bit of a rush.

  Until the front of my shirt caught on a sharp piece of metal. I hung there for a few seconds, trying to free the fabric from where it snagged on the fence. But my guitar case slipped. I let go of the fence and tried to jump toward the ground. With a giant riiiiiiiiip, a gaping hole appeared where the side of my shirt used to be.

  Strong hands gripped my sides. “I thought I might find you here.”

  * * *

  Ryder

  “What are you doing?” Morgan stepped back as soon as her feet touched the ground, her eyes wide like she’d seen a ghost. Maybe she had. We’d spent enough time here that some essence of our younger selves might still be lurking around.

  Then she must have realized that her shirt was hanging open. Even in the dim light, I could tell her face had turned the color of my mom’s roasted beet relish. Her hands scrambled, trying to grab enough fabric to piece her shirt back together.

  I shot a glance toward the full moon sitting high in a cloudless sky. “Couldn’t sleep. Seeing you reminded me of all the time we spent together. I guess I wanted to stop by, see what it was about this place that used to make it feel like the world belonged to us.”

  What I wouldn’t give to go back to a time when my biggest concern was making it through the two-a-day football practices before earning some time to listen to Morgan work on a song right here in our favorite spot.

  She swallowed. The slight movement pulled my attention to her neck, making me wonder if her skin still tasted as good as I remembered.

  “I can’t do this tonight. I’ve got to finish a song. I thought coming here might…”

  “Might what?” I wanted to reach out and smooth the creases away from her brow, wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. Maybe even admit how wrong I’d been to push her away all those years ago.

  Her hands covered her face. “I’m in trouble. I haven’t been able to write in years. Everything I’ve recorded is from the notebooks I filled back in high school. Back when you…”

  “Hey.” I couldn’t stand to see her hurting. “Come here.”

  She let me nestle her against my chest. My palm slid over her back, trying to rub the pain away. Her hair tickled my nose with the faint scent of days gone by.

  “Let me help.”

  Her shoulders tensed. Before she had a chance to make up an excuse, I took her hand and tugged her over to the spot where we used to sit.

  “I’ve got a blanket in my truck. We can do this… together. But first we’ve got to take care of that shirt.”

  She grabbed for the fabric while I pulled my own T-shirt over my head.

  “Put this on. If anyone sees you under the bleachers with your bra hanging out, you’re going to get the wrong kind of publicity.”

  She traded me the guitar case for my shirt. While she slid it over her head and worked her ripped shirt off underneath, I walked back to where I’d parked my truck outside the fence to grab a blanket out of the back seat.

  I spread it out on the ground, and she opened her guitar case. I thought she’d graduated from the cheap acoustic she bought at a pawn shop to the gorgeous custom guitar I’d seen her play on TV. Seeing her old guitar nestled in the case took me back.

  Back to a time when we’d sat in this very same spot. She needed help. I might not be able to give her everything I wanted, but I could give her what she needed. At least for right now.

  4

  Morgan

  The years melted away while I strummed the chords I’d memorized and tried out the lyrics that popped into my head. Five long years of failing to squeeze inspiration out of a well gone dry and the creative juices started to flow as soon as Ryder’s knee touched mine. I hated myself for needing him, even while I relished the chance to be close to him again.

  “I really like that, but maybe add a few extra beats to the chorus.” Ryder had always been more musically inclined. He was the one who’d taught me how to strum my first guitar. He sang the words I’d been trying to wrangle, his low voice like a potent aphrodisiac, and suddenly everything became crystal clear.

  “I think I’ve got it.” My fingers skipped over the strings while the words danced over my tongue.

  Ryder leaned back on his elbows, his smile growing wider as I played it all the way through. “I love it.”

  “I love it, too.” The same feeling I used to get when we nailed the right combination together swept over me. That�
��s the only reason I set my guitar to the side and launched myself at Ryder.

  For five years I’d tried to forget. But the memories crashed over me the moment he wrapped me in his arms. I glanced up, trying to gauge his reaction. Before I had a chance to apologize, he leaned down and claimed my mouth with his.

  Claimed.

  That’s the only word to describe the way his lips moved over mine. Gentle at first. Then more demanding as his tongue slid past my lips.

  Fire burned its way from my belly, lower, higher, radiating out through my limbs. Kissing Ryder Williams was everything I remembered and so much more.

  “You okay?” He pulled back enough to ask.

  Okay? That seemed like too insignificant a word to describe the agonizing mix of pleasure and need coursing through my veins. Finally feeling his hands on my skin, his lips on my mouth, his breath on my cheek, was the most exquisite kind of torture.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” The words tumbled out, a bald-faced lie.

  He knew it, too. I could tell by the long blink and the way he shifted his gaze to the side. “We need to talk.”

  I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to escape into the feelings being around him brought back. Revisit a time when life was easier, before reality set in and sent us down different paths. Paths that had very little chance of crossing as our dreams took us farther and farther apart.

  His hand wrapped around my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing everything you said you would.”

  I pulled back. “Because you believed in me. That’s the only reason I had the guts to go to Nashville. You used to be so brave, so strong. What happened to your dream, Ryder? What happened to you?”

  “I got hurt.” His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I had my chance at my dream, and it didn’t pan out.”