Page 367 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

ASPEN

“I am never doing another blind date again,” I told Mallory.

I waited until after my last morning class to call her. With my studio on the second floor of the old building on Main Street, I stood at the top of the interior steps and waved down to the last woman from the prenatal class as she left. The little bell chimed behind her.

“That bad?” Mal asked.

“He never showed.”

I heard her groan through the phone. “Idiot. I’ll get Theo to text him and see what happened. I swear he’s a nice guy, but if his excuse is anything but food poisoning or being maimed by a bear while hiking, he’ll lose that status.”

“Don’t bother.” I went over to the shelf with the support blocks and tidied the pile. “Food poisoning or not, he’s not worth my time,” I said, repeating what Luke said to me at the bar.

“So you went home and ate kale chips or some kind of fruit smoothie with a power boost?”

She knew me well. “Kale chips are good.”

“Kale chips are an abomination,” she countered. “The only thing worse is that seaweed stuff. It gets caught in your teeth and tastes like rotting fish.”

“If being stood up had a taste, it would be like rotting fish.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“It did actually.” I couldn’t help but smile. The same goofy one I had all morning. “I ended up having four orgasms and I think I’m walking a little funny this morning.”

I was definitely walking funny.

“You need to lay off that dildo,” she cautioned. “You’ll get a UTI from all the wear and tear.”

I laughed. “These orgasms were man-made. As in I didn’t have any part of it. I just bent over and he gave them to me all by himself.”

“Bent over? Is that a yoga thing?”

“Bent over as in ah-mazing.” Like kinky-dirty and bold and wild. There was no timid, first-time thing going on with Luke. No. He’d had PLANS.

“Holy shit. Who is this superhero?”

I grinned. “His name is Luke. I met him at the bar when Ronald was a no-show.”

“And?”

“And he’s really good at trivia, has the best oral skills in the state, and has a baby arm for a dick.” My pussy clenched in glee remembering. “Plus, he’s nice.”

“Nice and has a huge dick? Marry him.”

I sighed. “I doubt my very satisfied vagina and I will see him again.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s not from here. He had a room at the hotel. He’s probably already checked out.” I didn’t tell her I snuck out. She’d kill me.

“That sucks.”

Yeah, it totally did.

But gorgeous Luke probably wouldn’t like the real me.

I didn’t usually wear clothes like the dress I had on the night before.

That had been in my closet with the tags on it since I found it at a clearance sale last fall.

My pretty pink lingerie set–the thong from which he kept–didn’t work with my yoga wear.

I was a mom. A yogini. I didn’t do sundresses and sex. I did athleisure-wear twenty-four/seven. Meditation and juice cleanses. I didn’t do baseball and wings.

But I got what I’d set out to do when I left my house the night before. A romp with orgasms.

“Totally sucks,” I told Mal. “Especially since I think he ruined me for all other men.”

“He was that good?” she asked, awe filling her voice.

I thought of the things we did before I snuck out. Ridiculously dirty. Unbelievably hot.

“Mal, I didn’t even know sex could be like that.”

We hung up and I gathered my things. I’d collect Sierra from the sleepover and then take her to the hockey store, as promised, before getting her packed for camp.

The bell on the door chimed again, followed by feet taking the steps two at a time.

A delivery man appeared holding an overnight envelope. He looked my way, then to the label. “Aspen Lane?”

“Yes.”

He held it out and I took it. He gave me a smile and a little wave, then tromped down the steps and left.

Ripping open the package, I scanned the single piece of paper.

“What the hell?”

It was from a lawyer in Boise representing Duncan Pounder. God, why couldn’t my stupid ex leave me alone? He tried calling last week and I ignored it. Deleted the message he left. Ignored the other few calls, then blocked him, the asshole.

I scanned the letter. It ordered me to return the engagement ring–oh shit, that ring–Duncan had given me by the end of the month, or I was going to be sued.

End of the month?

The jargon was very legalese so after three read throughs, I understood it to mean that Duncan gave me the ring as a conditional gift, dependent on marriage.

Since the marriage didn’t happen–as fucking if–the ring was not mine to keep.

Since I had yet to return it, I was liable for the value of the ring which was–

“Holy shit!”

Fifty thousand dollars.

I leaned against the wall. “NOW YOU WANT IT?” I shouted. So much for zen.

I buried a fifty thousand dollar ring in the woods two years ago and now he wanted it back?

Once I walked out of those woods with the intention of leaving my past behind, I did just that. Left Duncan and my old ways of choosing shitty men behind. I hadn’t had a serious relationship since, regardless of my friends’ attempts at matchmaking. Ronald had been yet another example of why.

I didn’t have the ring. Hell, I didn’t know where the ring exactly was. Shit. I’d buried it by a rock that looked like a bulldog. I had no idea if that was true or if my wine buzz had made me see things.

Fifty thousand dollars? I didn’t have that kind of money!

That meant–I scanned the paper once more–they could get a civil judgment against me, and it would garnish my wages. But I owned my business. Could they take it away from me? Shut me down?

Sure, my family was rich, but I wasn’t. My parents hadn’t given me any money since I was twenty and made the stupid mistake of getting pregnant out of wedlock.

Oh, and keeping the baby, which meant I gave up any chances of a ballet career that they’d pushed me toward since I was six.

By pushed, I meant ballet boarding school in Canada at twelve and was given a soloist role in Spain when I graduated.

I’d been good. Really good–because I’d loved it and there really hadn’t been any other choice–but my life as they’d planned it ended with a broken condom one night with a guy I met at a bar.

His name was Hans and he was Swiss, but that was all I knew of him.

We’d had sex in a bathroom stall. Sexy, right?

I had no idea how to track him down and never saw him again.

I’d quit, because one thing a pregnant woman couldn’t do was perform for a world-class ballet company pregnant, and moved to Hunter Valley, made my own little life working at the community center as a dance and fitness instructor.

Sierra had gone into the babysitting center while I worked.

After scrimping and saving and a solid business plan, I’d been able to get a loan for my yoga studio–since there was already a successful dance program in town–and I was doing well.

I wasn’t going to the Caribbean for vacation anytime soon, but I had a little rental that was perfect for me and Sierra. A quiet, politics-free life.

The only time my parents butted their heads into my life was if they needed me for a family first bill she was pushing in Congress or a photo op for reelection, but it wasn’t either of them that contacted me, but her press secretary.

Every time, I turned her down. Fortunately, election year was a while off.

Me going to them to say I’d been dumb enough to dump a guy who had enough money to give me a fifty thousand dollar ring, then bury the thing in the woods, wouldn’t go over well. Mom and Dad were definitely out.

I was on my own. I was fucked. I didn’t know how much money could be garnished or if they could shut down my studio, but I really wanted to pay my rent and eat. Sierra was growing like a weed and needed new hockey shin pads and those things were expensive.

Duncan Pounder. The guy had been a total fake, into me solely for access to my mother because of his family’s business needing tax exemptions or a trade deal or something political and schemy.

The guy was one hell of an actor. I’d believed his bullshit–sadly, for months–and that was what hurt the most. After being raised in the political spotlight, my every move under the microscope for optics and…

gasp, voter approval, I should have known better.

But wait, besides him being a DC social climber, there was more! Yeah, he cheated, too.

After a night with Luke and an aching pussy to remind me of what we’d done, I realized Duncan had no clue when it came to sex or pleasing a woman.

Whomever he cheated on me with deserved a medal and a thank you letter.

I couldn’t imagine being married to him.

She could have him and his mediocre abilities in the bedroom.

I deserved sex like I had with Luke.

Every night.

Except a guy as amazing as Luke was surely a one time thing. Wham, bam, gone.

But an asshole like Duncan? He was back like a bad rash.

I laughed, which was better than crying.

Crumpling the paper in my fist, I shook my head. I had to find that ring. The one I buried in a stupid empty tea tin. I remembered the path I took up into the woods but I veered off-trail and I wandered with my wine. It had been two years!

I had no idea where the ring was. I would have to start traipsing through the forest to find it and a rock that looked like a bulldog. How long would that take? I had two weeks. GAH!

I took a deep breath, filled my back lungs, let it out. I did it again. Repeated my mantra.

I am brave and confident. Strong and resilient.

No. I was in big, big trouble.