by K. Street
Together, we made our way down the winding driveway to the sidewalk.
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“You forgot my helmet.”
Shit.
Some days, I had it all together, and others, I wondered how the kid was still alive.
Since the helmet was where he could reach it, he could handle it.
“Go get it. It’s on the shelf. Grab your pads too.”
He groaned. “Do I have to? It’s hot.”
“Yes. You’re a crash hazard.”
“Fine.”
I kept an eye on Zeke as he stomped off, knowing it was the right call. He’d only recently learned to ride without training wheels.
My thoughts drifted to our parents.
Mom would’ve made him wear the pads.
Dad would’ve teased her for being overprotective.
And here I am, trying to fill both their shoes.
I rubbed against the ache in my sternum, forced down the emotion I didn’t have time to deal with, and focused on the little boy headed my way.
Zeke’s brown hair whipped against his forehead as he cut across the yard. Arms crossed over his chest, firmly clutching the pads while the helmet dangled from the crook of his elbow, like oversize costume jewelry.
I nudged the kickstand of the bike into position with the toe of my shoe and turned to the dog. “Turtle. Sit.”
He whined his protest but sat anyway.
“Good boy. Now, stay.” I scratched him behind the ear and then focused on Zeke.
“Was I fast?” he asked, trying to catch his breath.
“Super fast.”
I reached into my pocket and pressed the button on the clicker to shut the garage door. Then, I took the knee and elbow pads from Zeke, looping the Velcro straps over the respective body parts before I reached for the helmet and placed it on his head. Carefully, I fastened the strap into place, making sure not to pinch his chin, and gave it a tug.
“All right, climb on.”
Zeke put the kickstand up, straddled the seat, and set his feet on the pedals.
“Let’s go, boy,” I said to Turtle.
The dog got on all fours and wagged his tail.
“Zeke?”
“What?”
“Remember to look in front of you.”
“I will,” he yelled as he pedaled off.
Last week, he had been too busy watching his feet and crashed into the Millers’ metal garbage can. Both Zeke and the trash can were fine, but poor Mrs. Miller, who had been working in her flower bed, was scared within an inch of her life. The container of soil she had been holding became airborne, landing all over Mr. Miller. Who hadn’t been the slightest bit amused.
I chuckled, recalling the look on Old Man Miller’s face.
Zeke pedaled faster, putting more distance between us.
“Make sure you wait for me at the end of the sidewalk,” I called after him.
“Okay,” he shouted.
I kept an eye on him while Turtle stopped every few feet to sniff the grass.
When I reached Zeke’s side, we crossed the street together.
At the edge of the concrete walkway, Zeke positioned his feet on the ground and squinted up at me. “My eyes are sweaty.”
“Here.” I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe his face. “Good?”
“Yep.” He tightened his grip on the handlebars and pushed off again.
Turtle found his favorite tree and squatted to do his business. When he finished, I broke out the roll of waste bags I had stashed in my pocket and cleaned up after him. I tied off the bag and glanced up in time to see Zeke barreling toward a pretty brunette.
She jogged along, earbuds in place, chestnut ponytail swinging side to side, eyes glued on her phone, completely oblivious to her surroundings.
“Zeke!” I sprinted toward him.
At the sound of my voice, he jerked hard on the handlebars, causing the wheels of the bike to wobble.
Acting on instinct and adrenaline, I turned Turtle’s leash loose, launched the bag of dog shit into the air, and burst into a run.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
I stretched my arms wide to reach for Zeke.
The preoccupied woman’s body slammed into me. Pain shot across the front of my shoulder as the stranger’s forehead connected.
My arms protectively closed around her. There was no stopping the momentum as I toppled backward onto the grass, landing on my back with a loud pop.
“Ow! What the hell?” She wriggled, causing the sunglasses she wore to slip from the bridge of her nose, revealing a quick peek of surprise in her deep brown eyes before she pushed the glasses back in place.
She was curvy in all the right places, and it had been too damn long since I’d let myself be this close to a woman.
“Sweetheart, you might want to stop wiggling against me like that.”
She plucked the wireless earbuds from her ears. “What?”
“I said, you might want to stop wiggling up against me.”
Her cheeks flamed red. “Right. I-I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you all right?” I had taken the brunt of the impact but wanted to make sure she was okay.
She rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. What about—” Her brows drew together, and she wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What is that awful smell?”
It took about a half a second for my brain to register it all.
The loud pop.
The stench.
The pliant, moist, and still slightly warm substance smashed dead center on my back.
Fuck me. This is not happening.
Like an idiot, I took a deep breath. The ungodly odor hit my nostrils, attesting to the fact that it was indeed happening.
“Shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s dog shit.”
“Eww. Gross.” She pushed against my chest, using my body for leverage to stand.
My eyes were glued to her curves as she tucked the earbuds into a hidden pocket inside the black yoga pants she wore.
Turtle took the opportunity to sniff our new friend as she bent to retrieve her phone from the grass.
As far as watchdogs went, he was useless. The only danger he posed was licking someone to death.
“Aww. Aren’t you the cutest thing?” She petted him.
I turned my head to the opposite side, concentrating my attention on Zeke, who was sprawled on the grass no more than two feet away, silently staring at the sky.
“You okay, little dude?”
“I think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“I crashed my bike.”
“I can see that. Does anything hurt?”
“Um … nope.”
He didn’t sound too convincing, and I wanted a closer look.
I slowly got to my feet.
The collar of my shirt tugged at my neck, thanks to the poop pancake currently adhered to the wicking fabric. Trying my damnedest not to inhale, I reached over my shoulders and gently peeled the soiled blue material over my head. By some miracle, I managed to turn it inside out while containing the mess and carefully rolled it up and then moved to crouch over Zeke.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure.”
“It’s a good thing I made you wear the pads, huh?”
Zeke shrugged. “I guess.” He scrunched up his nose. “You smell like Turtle farts.”
Unrestrained laughter drew my attention.
I stood to my full height, taking in the dark-haired beauty. Her head was tossed back in amusement, showing off her elongated neck. My eyes trekked down her frame in slow appreciation before returning to her face.
She said something I didn’t quite catch.
“Sorry. What?”
She waved her finger at the shirt still clutched in my hand. “I said, you might want to take care of that.”
“Right.”
No way in hell was I going to carry a shit burrito back home.
Scanning the area, I spotted a trash can on the curb a few yards away, jogged over to it, and threw the mess inside.
When I returned, Zeke was on his feet. Turtle’s leash was in one hand while he extended his other to the woman he’d nearly mowed down.
“Hi.” He grinned, showing off dimples that matched my own.
She took his hand and gently shook it before releasing him. “Hello.”
“My name is Ezekiel. Don’t call me that because that is my in-trouble name.”
“What should I call you?”
“Zeke. And him is—”
“Ryder,” I cut him off and extended my hand. “Ryder DeLuca.”
She released an audible gasp. Then, she stepped back, nearly tripping over her own two feet. “I, uh … I-I have to go.”
Taken aback by her reaction, I asked, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah. Yes. S-sorry.”
“Wait. What’s your name?”
Without replying, she took off like her ass was on fire.
All I could do was stare after her and wonder what the hell had just happened.
“Why did she run away?”
My gaze dropped to my little brother. “I’m not sure.”
Turtle barked, and I knelt to scratch him behind the ears.
“I don’t think she liked you,” Zeke stated, matter-of-fact.
“It certainly seems that way.”
He put his small hand on my bare shoulder, and then he leaned in and sniffed hard. “You still smell a little bit like Turtle’s butt.”
“Thanks.” I chuckled.
“Maybe you shoulda washed your hands first ’fore you tried to shake with her.”
“Good point.”
My stare darted to her retreating form and remained on her until she rounded the corner. I had no idea who the mystery woman was, but I hoped like hell I’d see her again.
Two
Presley
My heart raced as I opened my front door, stepped inside, and then slammed it behind me. With my back against the cool wood, I slid down until my butt landed on the floor with a thud.
No way.
There is no way it was him.
He has a kid.
A kid who looks to be around five or six.
A kid he never mentioned.
Had he cheated with me?
Oh my God! Am I an adulteress?
My stomach churned as my brain spun out.
It wasn’t him.
But how many Ryder DeLucas could there possibly be?
His eyes had been hidden by the mirrored aviator sunglasses he wore. But that dimpled smile he flashed was familiar. It was the same one that had appeared in my dreams at least a hundred times over the last three years.
The second his sexy name fell from his perfect lips and how his hand was suspended in the air between us as he waited for me to introduce myself, it cemented the truth. He’d had no idea who I was.
Reality slammed into me like a punch in the gut. Landing with enough force to shake loose those old insecurities I had worked hard to overcome.
Still an average Jane in a sea of forgettable faces.
Ryder might not remember me, but he had been unforgettable.
I thought back to the night of my cousin’s wedding. The night Ryder and I had spent together.
The way my body had come alive beneath his touch. His smooth, warm lips on mine. How his corded muscles had flexed as he thrust inside me.
Then, I remembered how all those feelings had been overshadowed by the sting of rejection when I opened my eyes to find myself alone in his cold, empty hotel room, nearly all traces of him gone. Except one.
Had it not been for the scent of his cologne clinging to the linens or the smell of sex lingering in the air, I would’ve thought I had imagined it.
I wasn’t an idiot.
I knew how one-night stands worked, but I’d expected a little more than a wham, bam, fuck the thank-you, ma’am.
The idea of telling Ryder DeLuca to fuck off had consumed me for months after our hook-up. Mentally, I’d done it a hundred times. Harboring that kind of negative energy was bad for the soul. So, I’d let it go, certain I’d never see him again.
Yet, by some wicked twist of fate, the opportunity had presented itself.
And what did I do?
I had run away, proverbial tail tucked between my legs.
Right now, I wanted to kick my own ass.
My phone started vibrating in my hand, pulling me from my contemplative mental rambling.
The screen lit up with a picture of my paternal grandfather dressed in his gray jumpsuit.
Grandpa Ben had worked as a New York City garbage man for forty years. He’d moved to Boca Raton ages ago and was a resident of the Silver Shores retirement community.
He was one of the reasons I had decided to relocate from New York to Florida. Aside from my new job, my parents were the other reason.
My mother, a prosecutor, was a force to reckon with. Whenever she sauntered into a room, conversations died, and every head turned. Her very presence commanded attention. Victoria Preston Gallagher had been blessed with exquisite beauty and extraordinary intelligence in equal measure. Unfortunately for her, she had me as a daughter.
So many of our conversations in my formative years had begun with maybe …
Maybe you should study more.
Maybe you shouldn’t eat so many carbs.
Maybe it’s time for a new nanny.
Maybe what you really need is a fixer, not a nanny.
Maybe if you tried harder to apply yourself, you wouldn’t be so … average.
She had a way of spitting the word as if it were something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe.
Maybe I wasn’t the picture-perfect daughter she had envisioned. I didn’t have her platinum-blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, willowy shape, or air of confidence.
I might have been a book nerd and a band geek, but school had never come easily for me. No matter how many tutors my parents had hired or how hard I’d busted my ass, my GPA had certainly killed any chance of my being accepted into an Ivy League school. Not that it mattered.
One simply didn’t go to Harvard to be a kindergarten teacher.
Dad, brilliant surgeon that he was, had tried to make up for my mom’s maternal deficit when time permitted. But he was completely head over heels in love with my mother, to the point that it nearly rendered him blind to her shortcomings. The ones he did notice, he justified on her behalf.
My parents were the perfect power couple. I loved them, and I knew they loved me in their own way. Still, our relationship was complicated.
Switching majors was the first time I’d ever openly defied my parents. They couldn’t fathom why on earth their daughter would rather be in a classroom, surrounded by five- and six-year-olds, than follow in their footsteps or become the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.
I didn’t want any of those things. What I did want was a career I loved and to someday live in an average-size house, with an average yard, a dog, and maybe a pool. I wanted to marry an average guy who adored me and have kids who would never, ever be made to feel as though they weren’t quite good enough.
Socializing at fundraising dinners and having more money than I could spend in a lifetime wasn’t ever going to make me happy. I didn’t want my parents’ life, and it had been a hard pill for them to swallow, but years spent being a square peg constantly trying to fit into a round hole had finally taken its toll.
Suffocated by the weight of their expectations and desperate for some distance, I’d relocated to Boca. Moving to Florida had been my second act of rebellion.
My parents didn’t understand me, not like Grandpa Ben.
The corners of my mouth tipped up at the sight of my grinning grandpa on my phone screen. I hurriedly swiped my fingers over the glass, disconnected the Bluetooth, and placed the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, Papa B.”
“Princess Pea, how’
s my best girl? Did you get unpacked yet?”
“I’m well, and not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Is that why you sound out of breath?”
“No. I just got back from a run. I needed a break from all the unpacking.”
His chuckle echoed through the line. “So, you went for a run? Pea, it’s hotter than the devil’s ass crack out there.”
“Grandpa!”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
I laughed and told him, “I needed to stretch my muscles.”
After spending hours hunched over boxes and putting things away, I had gotten stiff.
“Are you still coming over for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Do you want me to bring anything special?”
“Nope. Just your smiling face.”
“All right.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
“See you tomorrow, Grandpa. Love you.”
“Love you too, Pea.”
I tapped the screen to end the call, peeled myself off the floor, and headed for the shower, my thoughts still on Ryder.
“Ugh,” I groaned aloud.
He had been out, walking his dog with his kid. Which probably meant he lived in the same neighborhood.
This is just fan-freaking-tastic.
What if I run into him at the market?
As I stood beneath the spray, I mentally ticked off all the ways I could avoid the man.
Use grocery delivery.
Buy a treadmill.
Forgo the dog in my someday scenario; get a cat instead.
No, scratch that.
Research pets that live in cages. They don’t get lost. Not usually outside the house anyway.
I could do this.
Boca Raton had a population in the ballpark of one hundred thousand people. Surely, I could avoid Ryder DeLuca.
Right?
Three
Ryder
Zeke raced into the living room. Shoes already on his feet and the straps of his Avengers backpack over his shoulders.
“I’m ready,” he announced.
“Are you that excited to be rid of me for the night?”
“Yes.”
I quirked a brow.
Zeke took one look at me and backtracked. “I am just kidding.”
“Sure, kid.”
