McMasters Meats was in the red. And therefore, by default, so were she and Jim. She’d been keeping everything afloat by juggling payments, but it was to the point of making decisions. The old equipment that had been there in the old man’s reign was breaking down and they didn’t have the funds to repair it. Dad had been slipping her money here and there where he could, but that was throwing pennies into a bottomless well.
In other words, they weren’t helping out Ian. It was the other way around. Jim had probably had to grovel and ask the brother he’d always had to cover for and bail out of trouble to return the favor. And if I had to guess, Leonard didn’t really have a broken ankle. My bet was that they’d had to let him go, and that meant most likely the part-time help Jim had in the back as well.
I was sick for my sister. For both of them. Her stressed expression should have flagged something. Her comment about Ian coming back to finally do something for the family should have raised questions too. It didn’t even cross my mind that Ian would be in a place to help anyone.
He and Jim were equal owners after their dad died, but I’d heard that Ian signed over his half, not wanting any part of it. I’d never asked, but I understood it. I remembered James McMasters pretty well. He was an ogre of a man, the kind that strangers find entertaining and eccentric, funny to listen to. It wasn’t all that funny at home.
And Lily had been what? Too proud to tell me they had problems?
I went through the motions, trying to churn up yesterday’s excitement.
Remember a week ago, when you would have orgasmed on the spot just thinking of going to Duncan’s house? Find that!
It was some sort of sad twisted karma that whisked that away with the arrival of Lily’s news. Yeah, right—because it was all about Lily’s news.
I fed Gracie, ate a granola bar so I wouldn’t chow down like a horse, and then ate another one just to be sure.
And stared at the clock. It was just after six and I was supposed to be there at seven. My hair was as good as it was going to get. Makeup was done. But the towel I had on wasn’t going to cut it. There had to be some sort of rule about wardrobe stressing twice in one day.
“We just went through this this morning,” I said as Gracie looked up at me. “This one’s more important. If I would have known there was an encore, I would have saved that outfit.”
Gracie wagged her tail and walked to her big bean bag chair, flopping inside and letting the denim cover mold to her.
“Yeah, rub it in,” I said. “I want your evening.”
Except that I might get lucky.
Okay, that made me sweat a little just thinking about getting naughty with Duncan. Enough to go looking for my good underwear. The matching ones that hadn’t seen a lot of action but were totally worthy of it.
I dug in my underwear drawer, shoving the old and boring things to the sides. When had I started settling on all this crap? Once upon a time, it was all worthy and sexy. Now—my fingers landed on the silk of the bra and I pulled it out. Red and sinful and lacy and—oh, hold the phone, what the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t go to Duncan’s for dinner with fuck-me underwear on. What if we
did
start to mess around and he made it that far? Little hard to look the part of conflicted good girl and not-expecting-this when the last layer is nastiness personified.
“Granny panties,” I said, making Gracie raise her head. “That first date rule never dies, right?”
Ugh, I needed reinforcement. It was too awkward after this afternoon to call Lily, and there was no way I was calling Abby to talk about date panties. I needed a buddy. A girlfriend.
Most of my life, that really wasn’t a priority. When I was young, other girls were intimidated by me, giving me a wide berth, which was fine. I was good with the shock value of being a bad girl. I enjoyed it. Becoming a mom tamed that down, but I never really got involved with the other moms—I didn’t know how, and again they were some of those same girls giving me the same looks. And I had Lily. And my work, where I could pretend to be normal.
Times like now—being normal would have been helpful.
I rummaged through the worn-out items I’d shoved aside. I didn’t actually own granny panties, so I settled on a faded and fraying thong. Still hideous enough for me to keep my clothes on, but versatile enough to avoid panty lines. Win-win.
An unfamiliar ringtone made me glance over at my phone in curiosity.
“Hello?”
“Still up for braving my cooking?”
A tingle went down my spine and up again at the smooth melodic sound of Duncan’s voice. Oh, that was good. He had that way. And I was in major need of tingles like that.
I chuckled. “Well, I do have pizza delivery on speed dial, just in case.”
“Good plan,” he said. “If nothing else, we’ll have ice cream.”
Always. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
“And I wanted to tell you to dress way down—not that you were going to wear a ball gown or something, but—”
“Damn, and I just dug it out,” I said, playing along, but my brain was ticking like mad. Dress way down? I glanced down at my towel. I was already there. Heat flushed from my neck up on the thoughts that conjured.
“Well, I have a little excursion in mind and you’ll want old clothes for it.”
Old.
I blinked. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”
I could hear him smile through the phone. “Good. See you soon.”
I stared at the phone as it went black. Well, that certainly upped the interest meter. And allowed me to stop obsessing over clothes and wear my favorite faded, soft, ass-hugging, ripped-at-the-knee jeans. They weren’t ripped to be trendy, they were just that old.
Forty-five minutes later, clad in said jeans, a black tank top, and an equally ancient denim sleeveless jacket, I closed the front door behind me.
Think positive, I told myself, rounding the curve in my sidewalk. I held my head up and tossed my hair, trying to capture that sexy vibe, and captured Ian walking up my driveway instead.
Shit-damn-hell. I managed not to trip, fall, or stumble over my own feet, which was miraculous given the look of pure appreciation that burned across his face as he took me in, slow and thorough. He blew out a breath and I cursed under mine as I stopped a few feet short of him.
Ian backed up two more steps, crossing his arms over his chest as he rested against my car door. His body conveyed “casual air” at first glance, but I felt the spring-loaded energy coming off him even from that distance and saw the intensity in his eyes.
Like no time had passed.
And yet it had.
Don’t let it get to you.
“Can I help you?” I said, hoping I appeared flippant and not the hot shaky mess I’d suddenly become.
I watched his gaze absorb me for the briefest of seconds, and he opened his mouth to speak, but then smiled as if to himself and shook his head.
“You look nice,” he said, his voice a little rough. His eyes panned me again, leaving little fires in their wake. Shit. “Ice cream and cowboy boots—that’s a combination.”
I glanced at the two bags in my hands. I’d worn flats to be cute and brought the boots for whatever Duncan had in mind. I tried to make that thought dirty, but looking at Ian derailed me into a flashback of a nothing-but-boots-on moment in our past and my sabotage was sabotaged.
“Yeah, well,” I said. That was profound. And my voice had gone husky like maybe my vocal chords had melted.
God, he looked amazing. I was trying really hard not to notice that and keep chanting Duncan’s name in my head, but Ian McMasters could still heat my blood. Faded jeans that hugged him about like mine did and looked so soft I could almost feel the fabric under my fingers. A light gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost matched his eyes. Beat-up leather work boots. It was all I could do to keep a neutral expression of disinterest on my face and not drool.
“So, I’m kind of on my way somewhere,” I said, holding up the plastic bags as evidence. “So can we—”
“So what’s his name again?” he asked.
“Again?” I said. “Nice try.”
“He looks like I should know him,” Ian said with a shrug I didn’t buy for a second.
“So what if you did?” I said. “Not your business. Why are you here?”
“I just,” he began, pulling his gaze from me and looking down the street. “I guess I just wanted to clear the air.”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Clear the air?” I said, a chuckle following close behind. “That’s gonna take longer than we have here.”
His eyes landed back on mine and the silence was heavy, the air thick. My emotions swirled inside me, pulling me forward. I stepped back one, instead. What was he doing? Arrogance, I could handle. This was something else.
“I owe you an explanation—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, bitter laughter dousing the heat. “If that’s what’s eating you, don’t let it.”
I stepped forward again and gestured to him to move away from my car door. He didn’t flinch or blink as I crossed personal space, just followed my eyes with his.
“Savi.”
“I’m serious, Ian,” I said, steeling myself and looking flatly up into his eyes. “You owe me nothing.”
Up close the pull was stronger, but I refused to let it show. I lifted my chin before I could get weak.
“I may be here a while,” he said finally, his voice softer.
“So I heard.”
“We have to coexist,” he said. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I laughed out loud at that, making him look at me with amusement.
“And showing up here like this—you don’t find this uncomfortable?”
“No,” he said, a smile coming back into his eyes. “I find this normal.”
“Of course you do,” I said, forcing a smile on my face. “Look, we’re grown-ups here, right?”
A tug pulled at one corner of his lips, drawing my eyes there. Damn it. “That’s the rumor.”
“We can coexist just fine,” I said. “Now, I have a life to get to, if you don’t mind getting off my car.”
He looked behind him with a smirk. “Still backing in for a quicker getaway, I see.”
I felt the twitch in my shoulders. “From my own house?” I said. “Not really.”
“Old habits,” he whispered, leaning forward a few inches.
Goose bumps sprinkled over my skin, and my mouth went dry. I licked my lips and watched his eyes drop to catch it.
“It’s a busy street,” I managed to say. “Just easier than backing out.”
Ian nodded, not blinking. Then he pushed off the car, forcing me to take a step backward.
“For what it’s worth,” he said as he walked to a bike that made my heart speed up, not stopping, not looking back. “He’s a lucky guy.”
I watched him straddle that thing in the dusky dark, turn over the throaty engine, and drive away before I slumped against my door.
• • •
It took me a bit to find the place, since it was off the beaten path a little. Or a lot. I’d spent some time out in those woods when I was young—on the back of a used ten-year-old Harley-Davidson Sportster—but there weren’t many houses inhabiting it back then. Mostly just teenagers looking for a place to get high.
Now, looking at the income bracket that had to live in these houses, it was kind of out of my league, and I was beginning to think I should have gone to veterinary school.
I arrived a few minutes late, which I didn’t mind so much. Normally I was freakishly anal about that, and I hoped he wasn’t, but to be honest I really needed to shake Ian off my skin. Even the air around me felt like him. I couldn’t keep doing this—going on dates with Duncan with visions of Ian dancing around. It wasn’t fair to him, and my God, he was giving me a second chance already. I had to bring all of me to this date. He deserved that.
Duncan’s house was not what I expected. He always struck me as the normal average white picket fence kind of guy. Certainly not a two-story, gabled, double-wooden front doors kind of guy.
I felt fidgety ringing his doorbell, like I was some door-to-door salesman or holding a bucket out for money. Standing there in my ripped jeans with plastic grocery bags of ice cream, I felt a little out of my element.
“Okay, Savi, shake it off,” I whispered, not moving my lips as I glanced around for a camera.
Old habits.
Yep, there it was. Two of them. One up close and one I’d missed walking up.
When one of the doors opened, however, and Duncan was in front of me looking deliciously adorable in jeans and a snug red T-shirt, with just socks on his feet and a large white dog at his side, my nerves settled back down a bit.
“Hey,” he said, a broad smile on his face. “Come on in, I’m still cooking.” He grabbed the bags. “Freezer?”
“Um—that one, yes,” I said, taking back the one in his left hand. “This one is boots.”
He chuckled. “You brought boots?”
“You said dress down, and in case—”
“Ah, gotcha,” he said. “Good plan, by the way. You’ll probably need them. This is Ella, by the way.”