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Trailer? Oh, right. He’s living in a trailer in the pits. I knew I hadn’t forgotten that, but it still surprised me he lived in a trailer. Yet then again, it didn’t, and it suited him just fine. Ridge was never into fancy things. He never had nice cars, clothes. . . those sort of things just didn’t matter to him.

Look at his motorcycle. It looks like a pile of shit. Sure, he says it’s vintage but still, hunk of junk if you ask me and you can smell the rich exhaust coming from it a mile away.

Did I mention he looks sexy as hell on it though?

That’s the thing, all that—the simplicity, the motorcycle, the trailer—it all adds to the appeal of the “rebel without a cause” thing he has about him.

Grady raises his hand. “Can I go to his trailer? I’ll go get the keys.”

Cash’s eyes widen. “I want to, too.”

Uh, no, if anyone is getting the keys, it will be me.

“No, you guys go with Papa. Is Ridge coming back with them?” I ask, looking at the ticket booth and then my dad, the boys hanging on his arms.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” He turns around, taking the kids toward Mom. “Go get them.”

Damn it. I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to go find him and then before you know it, I’m going to kiss him again, or he’ll kiss me.

So I go find him. Don’t laugh. You would too after that kiss.

His trailer isn’t actually a trailer at all. It’s a Class C motorhome, but not one of those over the top ones. Again with the modesty.

I knock, maybe a little too lightly, and of course, he doesn’t answer. Biting my lip, I contemplate what to do and glance down at my phone. Gates open in forty-five minutes, and if I’m going to be somewhat prepared, I need to get things organized in there.

I knock again.

No answer.

I try the door handle and pull it toward me.

It opens.

Do I step inside? Do I close it? Do I go in, grab the keys and run?

No. . . really, I’m asking you because I’m standing there like an idiot wondering what the fuck to do.

All right, I’ll go in and see if he’s at least in there. There’s certainly no harm in that, right? The door is unlocked. Isn’t that a standard definition of go ahead, come inside?

With a good amount of hesitation, I take a step inside and immediately—or maybe not—regret it because guess who’s just getting out of the shower?

Ridge.

He pauses and closes the shower door. He’s still dripping wet with a towel around his waist.

I nearly faint.

And the motherfucker drops the towel, and I have to reach for the counter with one hand. You would too. Hello, naked man before me.

“I uh, um. . . shit.” Accusingly I jab my finger at him. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“No. Grabbing you right now and fucking you against the table where everyone can see. . . that’d be on purpose. You walking in while I’m naked. . . that’s simply ideal if you ask me.”

I can’t stop staring. Wouldn’t you? Ridge’s naked and the theories Tori had on him being hung. . . totally fucking true. Apparently they weren’t theories, and the boy had been gifted since he was fifteen.