Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection

by Jessica Hawkins

  The bell rings as we finish collecting our books. Serena glares at me from across the room, but I have more important things to worry about.

  “Bak Mei kung fu masters? The Five Finger Heart Exploding technique?” Drew whispers, and we both start to laugh.

  “I guess somebody never watched Kill Bill.”

  “Or The Amazing World of Gumball.”

  We do a low five, and I follow her to the door.

  “Ruby, wait!” Ms. Hughes hurries to give me a business-sized envelope. “I want you to give this to your parents tonight. Have them sign it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” A knot tightens in my throat.

  I wish people wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

  Unless they need the exercise.

  Drew and I walk our regular route home from school. We live in the same neighborhood, but developers have been adding to it so long, it’s more like three neighborhoods connected by long, winding streets.

  Her family’s historic mansion is in the oldest part of Oakville Estates. It was one of the first homes built here. My family’s house is on the other, newer end. It’s not a mansion, but it’s still pretty big.

  We reach the fork in the sidewalk, and she hesitates, looking in the direction of her house. Since her mom died, all her daddy does is drink, and her brother Danny gets in trouble all the time.

  “If your dad hates art so much, why’d you pick him for your portrait?”

  “Daddy issues.” I joke, kicking the grass with the toe of my shoe. Neither one of us really wants to go home.

  “Seriously?”

  “I don’t know. His face was in my head.” I squint up at her. “Why’d you pick Danny?”

  She shrugs. “Same reason.”

  She opens her large portfolio, and we both study her portrait. It doesn’t look like Danny at all. It looks more like his best friend Gray. Our eyes meet, and I laugh again.

  “That’s the face in your head?” Her cheeks flush, and she doesn’t have to answer me. Drew and I know each other better than anybody in this town. “See you tomorrow, Drew-poo.”

  “Don’t call me that, banana brains.”

  I give her a push, and she pokes me in the ribs. Our pretend-wrestle turns into a brief hug. “Good luck.”

  “You, too.” She waves and marches slowly toward her house.

  I wonder if a drunk dad is better or worse than an absentee jerk. Either way, I can’t put off the inevitable any longer.

  Dad’s stuck at the hospital and won’t make it in time for dinner again. Ma and I sit together eating kimchee and spicy dumplings with chopsticks as she recites the events of her day.

  Her neat beige dress stops at her knees, and a thin black belt is around her waist. Her dark hair is smoothed back into a low bun at the nape of her neck, and her shoes are sensible black pumps. A neat strand of pearls is at her neck, and her lips are a pale shade of pink. My mother’s skin is flawless.

  She is the very model of a small-town church secretary.

  I’m dressed in ripped jeans and a graphic tee, and my hair is styled in a fluffy bob that ends right at my ears. While I do look more like her, thanks to my Anglo dad, my hair has a little wave in it, and my dark eyes are slightly rounder. It’s clear I’m half-Korean, but I appreciate these little perks from the man with whom I otherwise have nothing in common.

  We finish eating, and Ma goes to the bar separating the kitchen from the dining area. “What is this?” She picks up the envelope I left behind.

  “Ms. Hughes wants you to sign and return it.”

  Ma opens the letter and her dark eyes quickly scan the page. “It says you’d leave school early? To draw pictures?” Her brow furrows. “What about your science class? Your math? You should leave school early to take accounting.”

  “It’s just a recommendation, Ma. I don’t have to do it.”

  “Your father will not like this.”

  No shit. I don’t say that part out loud. I don’t want her putting soap on my tongue again.

  “What won’t I like?” Dad’s stern voice makes my insides jump.

  Ma jumps as well. “Kenneth! Welcome home.” She steps over to peck his cheek. “I saved you a plate. Sit.”

  He goes to the wet bar at the window, and ice clinks in a crystal tumbler as he pours his daily scotch. “Ruby?”

  My stomach clenches. “Yes, sir?”

  “What is your mother saying I won’t like?”

  Blue eyes fix on me, and I wonder how he can make me feel so cold with just a look.

  “We had an art assignment at school. My teacher sent home a note.”

  His brow lowers, and my frozen insides splinter in painful shards. “A reprimand?”

  “A recommendation.” I speak fast. “She wants me to take this art program. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

  He goes to the letter my mother left on the table and scans it even faster than she did. “Art.” His perfectly straight nose curls. “What gets into these teachers? What kind of job would you get with a degree in art?”

  Swallowing the pain in my throat, I nod. “I know, right?” My voice sounds too small.

  “What’s this?” He reads out loud. “See portrait. What portrait?”

  “It’s nothing.” I stand, collecting my plate. The last thing I want is to continue this conversation.

  “Ruby Banks, what portrait?”

  Depositing my plate in the kitchen, I go to where I left my school things in the mud room. My art folder is in the back of the long cubby behind my raincoat. I take it out and carry it slowly to the dining room where he now sits at the head of the table, holding his scotch.

  My mother stands behind his right shoulder, and a steaming fresh plate is in front of him.

  “It’s nothing, really.” I hold out the brown folder.

  He takes it, and my breath stills.

  My stomach is sick.

  What will my father see when he looks at my representation of his face? Will he see the anger and disapproval always looking back at me? Or will it do something to his heart, break the stone wall around it? Or will he only see what he sees every day in the mirror? Are disappointment and frustration how he views the world?

  The heavy brown cover opens, and his expression doesn’t change as he studies the lines and shading, the positive and negative space.

  My clasped hands squeeze tighter. I don’t want him digging deeper, turning the page and seeing my attempts at copying Klimt or Degas.

  The truth is, I agree with Ms. Hughes. I’m so proud of my art. The portrait of my father is an amazing likeness, even if it is distant and cold. When I’m drawing, I feel like I’m alive, and the harder I work, the more it turns out exactly as I’d hoped.

  It’s exciting and fulfilling…

  I don’t want him to take what I love and kill it.

  He closes the cover and tosses it aside. “A useless degree.”

  “I told her I wasn’t interested.” I speak quietly, submissively.

  He hates that.

  His eyes don’t leave his plate. I watch as he slices a sticky dumpling with a knife and fork and puts the piece in his mouth. My father refuses to use chopsticks.

  “That is all.”

  I’m dismissed, and my artistic dreams fall away, like the portrait inside that folder.

  Like the letter, which is never returned.

  1

  Ruby

  12 Years Later

  “I’ve hit rock bottom.” I flop on the couch in Drew’s office at the Friends Care clinic where we both work.

  Yep, I’m a licensed therapist… with two clients, both shared with Drew, who has like twenty.

  So I’m not the resounding success I’d expected, but Drew keeps telling me it takes time to build my practice, especially in a town the size of Oakville…

  Trust me, based on the dating scene alone, I get it.

  “What’s wrong now?” She stands and walks to the closet at the back of the room.

  “HookUp4Luv matched me w
ith Ralph Stern.”

  “The Almond King!” My best friend laughs for the first time in a week. “Did you know he has a plan for revolutionizing Oakville’s economy?”

  Clutching my forehead, I groan. “Gah—yes! He’s told me his plan five hundred times.”

  “Almonds are the fruit of the future.” She pauses. “Are they fruits or nuts?”

  “Who knows? They grow on trees…”

  “I’ll tell you who knows.”

  “Don’t say his name.”

  “The future king of your little almond patch.”

  “If you’re referring to my vagina, that’s just gross.” She laughs more, and I feel a twinge of guilt. “Am I being a bitch?”

  “Umm… No.”

  “Good. Because Ralph is a hard no.”

  It’s not that he’s a bad guy. He’s just so… so… Sheldon Cooper. Still, my mom is in my head giving me a disapproving look. Be kind to everyone, Ruby Banks.

  “I’ve dated every match in the tri-county area, and this is it. Ralph Stern is the last man on Earth.”

  Drew laughs even more, and I have an inspiration. “Screw the dating apps. We’re going out tonight—just you and me.”

  Her laugh disappears, and she’s shaking her head before the words even start. “Nope. Not interested. No.”

  “Yes.” I’m off the couch and catching her by the arms. “You’ve been cooped up alone in that big old house since your dad went in the nursing home. You’re going out with me.” I pull her trench coat on her shoulders. “Anyway, I’m your ride, so you can’t argue.”

  “You’re kidnapping me?”

  “If that’s what it takes.” I lead her out the glass entrance, waiting as she locks the doors, then she follows me to my lime-green Subaru.

  “Do you think it’s responsible to blow your paycheck on a night out?”

  “Yes, my sad little paycheck only covers one night out. Thanks for reminding me.” We’re in the car, and I drive us to my mom’s house. “Kenneth Banks was so adamant about a useful degree. I’m a licensed therapist, and I can’t pay my bills.”

  “Stop it. You’re building your practice.” Drew looks out the window, adding under her breath. “Kenneth Banks was a royal ass.”

  “It’s okay. You can say it out loud.” Five turns, and we’re at Ma’s. “I’m confronting my daddy issues.” Her eyebrows shoot up, but I hold up a hand. “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

  “Drew!” Mom meets us inside the door, giving my friend a long hug. She pretty much adopted Drew after her mother died when we were eight. “We prayed for your father this morning at church, and I burned incense to the Buddha when I got home.”

  “All the bases covered!” I lean to let Ma kiss my cheek, before swinging through the kitchen for a plate of dumplings.

  “Eat in the kitchen, Ruby Banks!” Mom yells, but I keep going to my bedroom.

  “We’re going out for a little while, Ma. We have to get ready.”

  “Church tomorrow!”

  “That woman, I swear…” Rolling my eyes, I close my bedroom door. Drew flops on my single bed with the plate, and I take a dumpling while inspecting my wardrobe.

  “Here, you can wear this.” I pull out a super-short, high-waisted mini with a cute long-sleeved crop top. “You’ll look hot and totally on point.”

  She takes it and frowns. “I don’t know why I’m dressing up. I’m not looking for a date.”

  “You’re dressing up because it’s Saturday night, you just got paid, and you’re going out with your best friend!”

  “You’re feeling good tonight. What are you not telling me? Did you get into your mom’s herbs?”

  “Ha ha, very funny.” I laugh, but her question makes me pause. “You’re right, though, I do feel good… like something’s coming. Maybe the planets shifted.”

  “I’ll take that forecast.” She goes into the bathroom to change. “Lord knows I could use a shift.”

  Nibbling on the dumpling, I study my wardrobe, finally settling on a velvet sheath with a sheer black top and built-in bustier. “Velvet is supposedly out… now it’s lamé. And track suits.”

  “I am not wearing a track suit.” Drew’s back looking like a hot tamale, and we freshen our makeup, pushing each other side to side with our hips in front of the mirror and laughing.

  Next, I sit as she uses the curling iron to touch up the waves to my long, brown hair. “Maybe I should mix it up. Wear a wig?”

  “No.” Our eyes meet briefly before she returns to checking my head for curl-holes.

  With a sigh, I take another dumpling. “I’ve got to get a better job, D. I can’t live in this house anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Be patient. The clients will come.” She releases a smooth spiral across my eye, and I push it behind my ear. “Anyway, your mom likes having you here, especially since your dad died.”

  “I’ll be twenty-three next year, and still living with my mother.”

  “At least you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”

  She shakes her long, naturally wavy blonde hair—which I do not hate her for having—and we head for the door. “Just don’t completely lose it and go out with Ralph Stern.”

  “If you’re truly my best friend, you will never let that happen.”

  “I am your best friend.”

  “Thank God.”

  Patrons spill out the door of The Red Cat as we walk up. It’s the only bar in our tiny town-square, and the interior hasn’t been updated since Frank Sinatra was alive. Lava lamps dot around the inside, and blood-red shag carpet covers the floors, running all the way up the bar. The scent of cigarettes permeates the room, even though smoking in bars has been banned for years, and an ancient jukebox playing real records is blasting “That’s Amoré.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Drew recoils. “The Red Cat is where old men hide out when they don’t want to go home.”

  “It’s the hot new place!” I grab her hand and drag her through the door. “Strong drinks served cheap.”

  We make our way slowly through the crowd when a loud male voice makes me cringe. “Ruby Roo!”

  I spin around fast, pissed as hell at Dagwood Magee. He’s been calling me that Scooby Doo nickname since we were in high school.

  “Stop yelling that! You’re messing with my hustle.” He only laughs and gives me a hug, leaving sweat on my face. I growl, wiping it off. “Gross.”

  Drew is weirdly pleased to see him. “At least we know a big guy here… just in case.”

  I order us two tequila sunrises while we wait at the bar, and even though it’s pretty packed, I’m not seeing anyone I know besides Dag. “How is it possible I don’t know anybody here?”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  Our drinks are in front of us, and I lift mine, taking a long sip. “So you’re not even looking for a man now?”

  “You know how I feel.”

  Drew has been pining after Grayson Cole since we were in high school. She waited for him all through college while he was overseas with the military, and then when he came back, he didn’t stay.

  I can’t help being protective of my bestie. “He ghosted you, Drew.”

  “He didn’t.” Her eyes are fixed on the drink she’s not drinking. “He’s doing what he has to do. Getting help.”

  “You know I love you, and I think you’re a great therapist.” She nods, stabbing her drink with the skinny straw. “I just worry sometimes all your understanding and empathy ends up making you a doormat.”

  “I’m not a doormat. I love Gray. I’ll love him forever.”

  We’re quiet a few minutes. My chest hurts at her confession, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “He’s a lucky guy. I wish I felt that way about someone.”

  As I say it, I realize it’s true.

  She puts her head on my shoulder. “What will you do if you’re not a therapist?”

  “No idea.” I shake off the sudden melancholy mood and take anot
her, longer sip of my sweet drink. “Search for my insanely rich Asian husband?”

  “Not in Oakville,” she straightens, looking around the room.

  She can say that again. It’s a fantasy football sausage fest in here. The guys are all big and boisterous, and when the juke box starts blasting “Fly Me to the Moon,” they all start singing loudly.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter, when my eyes land on a guy sitting alone at the other end of the bar.

  Lava lamps don’t provide much light, but I can see he’s wearing a tailored gray blazer over a white shirt, and he’s nursing what looks like a scotch. His brown hair is just long enough to be messy, and it has a sexy little wave across his forehead, which he pushes aside with an elegant hand.

  He glances up, and when our eyes meet, he gives me a brief smile. Heat shoots all the way to my core. Holy shit, he has a dimple in his left cheek!

  I give him a shy smile and turn slowly to face my friend. “Holy shit, I’m in lust.” I hiss, grabbing her arm fast. “Who is that?”

  “Who?” Drew is talking way too loud, and now she’s looking all around the bar dramatically.

  My jaw clenches. “Stop it. He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

  “How am I supposed to know who you mean if you won’t let me look?”

  “The Jamie Dornan clone in the corner.” The music is blasting, and we have to shout.

  “You think every hot guy looks like Jamie Dornan.”

  “I do not.” Her eyes slant, and I defend my position. “Jamie Dornan has a very standard, hot-Anglo guy look.”

  “Are you saying all hot white guys look alike?”

  “I am not saying that. It’s racist. You’re saying that.”

  “Good thing I’m white.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake her arm. “Whatever. He’s hot as fuck. Who is he?”

  She finally looks, then she starts bouncing up and down. “Oh! That’s Remington Key! I tried to introduce you to him at church, and you couldn’t be bothered.”

  My fingers clutch her arm tighter, and I pull her to me. “Please stop jumping and screaming his name. He’s not in BTS.”

  “You with the K-pop.” Her expression turns excited. “Just think, Mr. Right was waiting for you in a bar all along. It’s like the olden days!”