Page 23

Too far?

Probably.

“I work here,” Ridge says matter-of-factly, eyeing my hair. My bleached blonde all over the fucking place hair. “Nice to see you too. How was the dickbag convention?”

I close my eyes, then open them, swimming in the sight of him. “Funny, their presenter never showed.”

It’s a jab at him and he gets it.

He laughs, but his smile disappears, replaced with a frown. He stands and steps toward me. His white dress shirt clings to his muscular physique and if I watch closely, and I do, I can see the muscles in his stomach and arms flexing with each step. “I can’t believe you married him.”

Ridge shoves his hands in his pockets. When his eyes slide to mine, my stomach turns to knots, his eyebrows raising. Just as I remember the smile he can bring me to my knees with, it curves up at the edges when he catches me staring at him.

“You left me here,” I say finally. “Without saying anything so you don’t get to ask me a question like that. And I’m divorcing him.” I had to add the last part, not sure why.

He considers my words, tilting his chin down in acceptance.

I had to remind him of the pain he caused me. It’s just like me to throw that out there right away, like it might change his next words to me. It doesn’t though. He still says exactly what I’m expecting him to and slays me with a look, the honesty in his face knocking me sideways.

“Would it have really mattered if I had said goodbye? It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

It would have changed everything!

I stare at him, unable to breathe for a moment, pain saturating my heart, and I see what I think is anger in his features, the tightness of his eyes, the flexing of his jaw.

And it slides away just as easily. He moves my way again, his posture casual and relaxed, just like I remember. A man completely comfortable in his own skin.

I straighten my back nervously and tilt my chin up. The smell of him hits me, so masculine, earthy, filling my nose. I inhale, wanting to drown myself in his scent. My thoughts move to that night in his mother’s car. . . the way his weight felt pressing me into the seat, the way his mouth melted my heart, that same masculine scent all over, even when he was just a boy back then.

His eyes hold mine. No, they captivate mine and tell me to dive in, follow his lead. He’s always had this impact on me. And I always hated myself for it.

“Last I heard”—my voice sounds strained. Kinda always is when you start panting—“you were living down in Santa Barbara.”

He arches a thick, devilish eyebrow as if to ask, “So you kept tabs on me?” But he doesn’t say anything. At least not in words.

See that look on his face? The one that screams arrogance? That’s exactly what he wanted to convey. That me, Aly, the girl who turned him down, kept track of him.

“You knew where I was?”

“Yes. . . or did, um. . . .”Quick, pull yourself together.“Did you come back for your dad?”

“That’s part of it but not the entire reason.” He tucks one hand in his pocket, using his free one to tousle his hair. I look away, in fear I might jump him and cling to his body until he fucks me against the wall.

“I’m sorry to hear about his passing,” I tell him. “Michael was a good man.”

Ridge doesn’t say anything, but there’s an emotion plastered on his face. It’s not sadness, but it’s not relief either. I know despite his behavior growing up, he loved his dad. Ridge is tortured and crazy enough to burn down the town to get what he wants or to prove a point, but he loves just as deeply.

I have so many questions for him like does he have a girlfriend or a wife or maybe even some kids? Would it be inappropriate if I asked? I glance at his hand. . . no wedding band.

I clear my throat. “You called because of Cash, right? You’re his teacher until Mr. Burke comes back?”

He nods. “Yeah, I am. Cash spit on his desk and then yelled at another student for making fun of Grady. Called him a stupid head and threw his pencil.”

My chest tightens. “Who was making fun of him?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Another kid in class. Apparently his underwear is on backward.”

I blink, my blood pressure rising with the pounding of my heart. Is it hot in here or is it just me? “Who’s underwear?”