SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,43
hose as he walked to Tracy’s dusty compact. “Will you turn on the water?”
“Mad, about this love that you never mentioned to Harper—”
He pointed the nozzle in his sister’s direction. “Can we please extinguish this conversation?”
“No.” She put her fists on her hips. “Because…well, because I’ve felt responsible for your long face and bad choices for the last six years.”
“Long face? Bad choices? What the heck are you talking about?”
“Courtney.”
“Yeah. Well.” He looked away. “That had nothing to do with anything but my bad judgement.”
“You were trying to forget that Harper left you.”
“I’m sure enjoying this conversation, Trace.”
“It was because of me and Ryan,” she said quickly. “I know that and I feel terribly guilty.”
His mood went from dark to black. “Don’t bring up your asshole ex-husband.”
“I shouldn’t have unloaded on you.”
Ryan had made Tracy miserable for years. Cheating, then promising. Promising then cheating. Their marriage took a long time to end, each day getting uglier than the next, the ugliness at its peak during those months right before Harper surprised him with her concrete plans to move and live overseas. “You had to tell someone.”
“You were my rock, Mad.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” he said, taking a step back in alarm. “Don’t cry.”
“But I think, when it comes to romance, that I took you down with me. I made you reluctant to tell Harper that you wanted her to stay.”
“Water under the bridge,” he said, still uneasy. “Speaking of which, if you turn on the spigot we can take care of your car.”
“And now that she’s returned,” Tracy continued, “you’re afraid to get involved again.”
“I’m not afraid to get involved. I said I didn’t think I’d be seeing her again.” Had he said that to Tracy? There were more tears in her eyes. God, he couldn’t think straight under this kind of pressure.
“I know you want to see her again.”
“She’s good in bed. We’re more than good together.” Shit, he’d shared that? “But if you tell Mom I said so, no more of those bath bombs you like for Christmas.”
She wiped her cheek with the heel of one hand. “As long as it’s not my past that’s holding you back.”
“You’re not holding me back. Nothing’s holding me back.” He stomped over to turn on the water. “I’m going to wash your damn car and I’m going to see Harper again if I want to. And if she wants to.”
Did she want to?
Shit. He should have chained her to his bed while he had the chance.
Instead of going straight home, Harper swung by a convenience store for a cup of bitter coffee and a sweet roll in plastic wrap. The flavor of both improved when she found a spot at a parking lot alongside one of her favorite local beaches. A scattering of other vehicles showed others were appreciating the splendor, but directly in front of her was an empty expanse of sand and endless knee-high waves rolling in.
Not good for the surfers.
Perfect for a hometown girl experiencing a bit of a crisis.
In love with Mad?
She took a vicious bite of the honey bun and considered the chance she was so stupid.
Cranking down the window, she let in a salt-laden breeze. Her eyes closed and she pulled in a deep breath, letting the familiar scent into each cell. The ocean was as much home as the avocado grove and the herbs in the kitchen garden.
Home.
Maybe that was how she’d become hung up on Mad again. He was as much a part of home as the sea and the citrus and her family. It wasn’t such a disaster to admit she’d missed them all. A day or so more and she’d go back to her other life. To the dark bar and the golf bachelors and the new divorcées.
Another bite of honey bun didn’t make that idea go down any sweeter.
A last sip from the cup of rot gut left a taste in her mouth that suited her frame of mind. So she drove toward Sunnybird Farm, her sole focus on her full tube of toothpaste.
In the front yard, she found her mother sitting on a bench in the shade of a crepe myrtle. “Hey,” she said to Rebecca, then halted as she noticed her mom was writing in a journal. Her stomach jolted. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” her mom said. “Come join me.”
Harper gestured vaguely in the direction of the open pages. “This is a private moment.” For personal, private thoughts.