Page 80

“Come by my trailer later.”

That was a demand, wasn’t it?

Do you see me there? I’m the one nervously approaching the trailer in one of those walks that screams indecisive.

Aly, don’t go up to that trailer. You know exactly what’s going to happen if you walk in there. He’s going to invite you in and lock the door, and soon you’ll be spreading your legs. Then he’ll tell you to leave.

Is there anything wrong with that? I’ve slept with one man—the wrong man—maybe my feet are leading me in the direction I always should have gone.

As I’m standing near the rear of the trailer backed up to the fence line in the pits, I notice his bumper sticker. You’re curious now, aren’t you?

Take a look. Right on the bumper of his grey and black motorhome is: Cash, grass, or ass, nobody rides for free.

Classy, huh?

What am I thinking? This is stupid. I should just go home.

I chew on my thumbnail, and I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to ease my rapidly overactive “I’m about to have sex again” heart. I taste blood, having bit down too much.

I wipe my fingertips to my lip. “Damn.”

“Do it!” someone yells from the pits, and I’m not surprised to see it’s Jameson, barely able to stand up, screaming at me as he holds a beer in the air.

Crap. They saw me.

So there I am, ducking, because I’m dumb and can’t make up my mind, when guess what happens next?

No, really, just take a wild fucking guess because you can’t make this shit up.

I’ll wait. . . . Go ahead, tell me what you think.

If by chance you guessed Ridge opened the door, you’d be right.

“What are you doing on the ground?” he asks, one hand on the door handle, the other on the trailer as he hangs out of it.

I stand, brushing my hands down the front of my jeans. “I. . . uh. . . my shoe came off.”

He stares at me, almost sternly. “Get in here.”

So I do. And then he closes the door but doesn’t lock it. I look at it, biting my already bleeding lip. “Are you sure that doesn’t lock?”

Do you see the smile on his face? It’s sexy as hell. What about the look of lust in his eyes? Do you see that too? Do you remember when I said I like plans and everything to be ordinarily?

I don’t know what I’m doing in here or what to expect, and it’s set my nerves into glitch mode.

The smile fades, and Ridge’s brow draws together like he doesn’t understand why I’m asking about a lock, or maybe he’s annoyed I’m asking about it. “Why does it matter if it locks or not?” He steps toward me, grabbing my hand. “Ain’t nobody coming in here but you.”

Is that supposed to make me feel better? It doesn’t.

My hand reaches for the counter, and I steady myself. “I uh. . . maybe I should go.”

Christ, why’d I say that? You know I don’t want to go. Glitch. It’s the glitch.

Ridge grabs my face between his palms, his eyes wild. “You’renotleaving.” His voice shakes as he speaks, vulnerable, making sure Iknowhow tonight is going to go. “Not this time.”

I breathe against his lips, unable to argue with his demand. The shift in his demeanor reminds me of who he is to me. A man who constantly pushes my boundaries and makes me forget the predicted, the planned, the rules. . . .

My mind scrambles and I keep thinking, one, what if someone comes in? And two, where are we going to do it? The couch? The dinette? The bed?