Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  Dammit, she was right. It was hard to argue with her logic, which was super annoying. I like it when I’m right.

  “I hate you.”

  She chuckled. “Nope, you don’t. But I bet you hate yourself right now.”

  “Congrats. You just out-psyched the psych major.” I was the would-be therapist, so I should be the one handing out insightful tidbits. Time for a deflection. “What about you and the good professor?”

  She clasped her hands together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, right. You got a huge crush on him.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it wouldn’t be appropriate. Ian’s in a position of power as my professor and now my advisor.”

  “Ian, huh?” I waggled my eyebrows.

  Her lips thinned. “When in doubt, I consult Jane.” She tapped the book like it was the Bible or something. “And she disapproves of unsuitable romantic attachments.”

  “I just wish the inappropriate ones weren’t so damn attractive.” Although something occurred to me while she was talking about ethics and morals. “You know, when I think about it—you, me, and Kate are all very Freudian. His theory of personality to be precise.”

  “Refresh my memory. I took Psych 101 three years ago.”

  “Freud believed a person had three distinct parts of their personality. You’re the superego—always telling everyone what they should and shouldn’t do.”

  “Gee, thanks. In your view, I’m the hall monitor.”

  “It’s a compliment—sort of. That makes Kate your opposite—the id.”

  “That’s the one who’s all about pleasure, right? Sleep with whomever, eat whatever you want.” She nodded. “Sounds like Kate.”

  “Yep, which makes me the ego—the one who has to choose between opposing forces.” And right now, I was thinking with my id.

  “Well, for your sake, I hope you make the right decision.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I doubted it, though.

  “Hey, just out of curiosity, what’s Iris?”

  “Normal, I guess.”

  She struck me as the most well-adjusted person in our group. Maybe because nothing had been handed to her—she’d had to work her behind off to get where she was. Iris had grown up in rural Mississippi. She’d survived poverty and made it to Columbia on her own merit. While her upbringing had been harsh, her parents loved her, and she appreciated everything she’d been given.

  “At least she will be, once this thing with Will blows over.”

  “You might not be into Kate’s ‘last gasp’ plan, but you’ve got to admit—he deserves a big karmic slap in the face.”

  “You’re not wrong. I hope Will gets his just desserts.” Darcy lifted her chin.

  “Iris should be the one who gives it to him.”

  “I’m waiting for her to get mad. Right now, she’s in a funk.”

  “Between you and me, I don’t think he’s worth the tears.” As far as I could tell, Will was a waste of space as a human being. Iris could do so much better.

  “So what are you going to do about your stepfather?” I opened my mouth, but Darcy held up a silencing hand. “Don’t you dare try the hypothetical crap on me again.”

  “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.” I sagged in my chair.

  “Yes, you do—just take the moral high ground. Ignore your id, and you’ll be fine.”

  But I had another line of reasoning I wanted to try on Darcy.

  “Their marriage isn’t real, so maybe this doesn’t count…”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were looking for absolution or permission, but I can’t give it to you. It doesn’t matter if Bettie doesn’t love him, or if the marriage isn’t real. It’s wrong—end of story.”

  And with that, she walked out the door.

  I’d love to say I contemplated my actions, then decided to do the right thing in spite of my wants and needs, but that wasn’t what happened.

  Instead, a plan began to form—a stupid, selfish one.

  Let’s be honest: aren’t those the best kind?

  ***

  So, yeah, stupid plan time.

  Later that evening I found myself back at Vagabond—only Sebastian was nowhere to be found. According to the bartender, he’d been gone all day.

  This wasn’t a promising beginning to my strategy.

  To kill time, I ordered a glass of red wine and sat on a barstool. For a minute, I marveled at handing my ID to someone and legally purchasing alcohol, but got over the thrill on the second drink. The club was crowded, as per usual—people laughing and drinking, having fun.

  It made me feel even more alone.

  As the minutes and then hours ticked by, I felt like an even bigger idiot. To make matters worse, I’d drunk a half bottle of wine, and the bartender had cut me off.

  While I was contemplating calling a cab, Sebastian finally made an appearance. I was startled when he pulled up a stool beside me. I hadn’t heard his approach over the din of the music.

  “Poppy, what are you doing here?”

  Wasn’t it obvious? “Looking for you.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Sebastian shouted over the music. The band was playing “Counting Stars” by One Republic. The song was strangely fitting.

  I whispered into his ear, “Looking for you.”

  When I leaned back, he had this deer-in-the-headlights look—which answered my question. Kissing him last night had been a huge mistake, and I’d just compounded it by coming here.

  Dammit. I should’ve listened to Darcy’s advice.

  Why hadn’t I stayed home and danced my way out these blues instead?

  I leaped off the stool and then stumbled into him because, apparently, I hadn’t gotten my fill of embarrassment for one evening.

  Crap.

  “Last night shouldn’t have happened, Poppy.” Sebastian steadied me with a hand on each shoulder. “We can’t—”

  “I know, and you don’t have to explain anything. You’re right, and I’m sorry.” I tried to twist out his grasp, but he wouldn’t let me. “You won’t see me here again.”

  “Please don’t go, not like this.” He swallowed. “I like spending time with you, but I’m your stepfather, and we can’t be anything more than that.”

  “Got it.”

  And then I hiccupped. My stomach ached, and the floorboards were doing this awful roller-coaster thing under my feet. I tried to scramble away again, but his grip tightened.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No.” I wanted to get away from him so I could run back to my place and have a good cry.

  “I think you mean yes. You can barely stand on your own two feet.”

  “It’s not my fault the room’s moving. Don’t worry—I’ll get a cab.” I tried to push him away, but Sebastian refused to turn me loose.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s freezing, and I’m not going to let you roam around looking for a cab when you’re this intoxicated.”

  “Last night, I handled it just fine.”

  “I’m glad, but I’ve been kicking myself for letting you run out of here all by yourself. God only knows what could’ve happened to you out there.”

  “Not your problem. You don’t have to worry about me—I can take care of myself.” I squared my shoulders, ready to put on a show.

  “Yes, you can, but not right now.” Sebastian swept me up into his arms. Before I could protest, he carried me up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom.

  Once again, we were all alone together.

  As signals go, this was a mixed message.

  “Let’s get some caffeine in your system and then I’ll send you home.” Sebastian made a pot of coffee while I sat on the couch.

  I thought about arguing with him, but I doubted I’d get anywhere. Since I intended to avoid him after this, I might as well soak in these last few precious minutes.

&
nbsp; So I sat back on his sofa and inhaled deeply. This place smelled like him—leather from the guitar case, the sandalwood scent of his cologne, and the faintest hint of smoke from his cigarettes.

  While the coffee pot sputtered, I looked around. I’d never been to Sebastian’s apartment before. Whenever we’d hung out, it’d always been in his office or the bar. The place was Spartan—a queen-sized bed, a couch, and a doorway, which must lead to his bathroom. The end table held a couple of legal pads with scribbled verses. Songs are poetry set to music, and Sebastian was an incredible poet.

  “Have you’ve written anything new?”

  “What?” He turned to face me, looking a bit distracted. “Oh yes, I’m nearly finished. I’ve got one last number, but somehow the words just aren’t coming. I need a theme for the album.”

  “Well, I hope it soars up the charts.”

  “Thanks.” His smile was faint.

  After it was finished brewing, Sebastian sat beside me and pressed a cup of coffee into my hands. I took a sip—he’d laced it with sugar, just the way I liked it.

  “We need to talk.”

  I shut my eyes. “No, we don’t. You’ve made yourself very clear, and I’ll respect your wishes. I shouldn’t have come here, and I won’t be repeating the mistake.”

  “Poppy, you’re young and beautiful. You deserve a guy your own age, someone who’s—”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” I was too hung up on that point to hear the rest.

  “Yes.” Groaning, Sebastian placed his head in his hands. “Fuck it all, I’m trying to do the right thing by you.”

  “Maybe you should stop?”

  He took in a shuddering breath. “I can’t.”

  “I think about you all the time—I fantasize about you.” I couldn’t stop the flood of words. The alcohol didn’t help matters.

  His only comment was a moan.

  I scooted closer, but he slid further away.

  Geez. Pick a side, Sebastian. Do you want me? Or nah?

  “Last night, I replayed your kiss. Thought about your hands on me…”

  “Stop.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do. Why don’t you admit it—you want me.”

  And there it was.

  I’d unconsciously become the Fatal Attraction girl. Hide your bunnies, folks. I couldn’t call the words back now. It was all out in the open for him to see—how needy I was, how much he affected me.

  “Why don’t I want you?” Sebastian laughed as though it were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

  The sound was ugly and harsh. Last night, he’d let me down gently, and now I’d backed him into a corner.

  “You’re right, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” I placed the mug on the table, stung by the imminent rejection. Then I lunged for the door, but the tears blurring my vision, along with the booze I’d had, slowed my movements.

  Sebastian beat me to it, pushing his hand against the door frame. I couldn’t get it to open with the added pressure.

  “Poppy, wait.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I turned my back to him. I willed the tears away, but they streaked down my face anyway.

  “Look at me.”

  “Seriously, forget about it.”

  When I got home, I’d go to Darcy’s room and have a heaping dish of crow—tell her she was right and I was wrong. And how I’d gone and made a mess, but I had no one to blame but myself.

  “Stop. Hear me out.” Sebastian spun me around, and I dropped my gaze to the floor, but he placed a finger beneath my chin and lifted it so I couldn’t escape his eyes. “I gave you the wrong impression, love. Want doesn't touch what I feel.”

  I shook my head, not quite grasping it.

  “Do I want to kiss the freckle on your throat?” I knew the mark he meant. His thumb drifted from my chin to graze the spot beneath the line of my jaw. “No, I fucking need to.”

  He tilted my head to the side and pressed his mouth there. I gasped, wondering if he could feel my pulse pounding beneath his lips.

  “Do I want to run my hands through your curls? No, I long to.” Sebastian threaded my hair through his fingers. His voice was a hoarse whisper. “Every bit as silky as I’d imagined. And your mouth…”

  “What about it?” I licked my lips.

  “So wet and red.” His mouth hovered over mine. “I know how sweet you taste, so how can I deny myself one little sip?” He kissed me, and I looped my arms around his waist.

  As though stung, Sebastian pushed away from me and backed up a step, leaving me flailing—left out in the cold. Again.

  Okay. What the actual fuck?

  “I’m an addict, Poppy and I don’t do things in half-measures. When I’m jonesing for something, I go after it—full force.”

  “Which means…?” I had to make sure, because the score had changed a couple of times.

  “Yes, I’ve had a thing for you since you danced into my life. But I’m trying to do the right thing for once.” He shut his eyes. “And you’re making it difficult.”

  Oh, yeah…sorry, not sorry.

  “Sebastian—”

  “We need to stop before this gets out of hand. You’re drunk, and I’m…out of control.” Sebastian backed off again “You’re going to stay here, and I’ll get a room at the hotel down the street.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not running you out of your own apartment. I’ll get a cab and go home.”

  “Poppy…”

  “Seriously.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Fine, but I’m going to put you in the cab myself.”

  If I didn’t say something soon, he’d push me out the door, and this thing between us, whatever it was, would be over.

  “Why don’t you come out with me tomorrow?” I blurted. Come out with me had a whole different connotation than go out with me.

  “Not the best idea, love.”

  “Probably not. Trust me, though—it’ll be totally platonic.” It was a lie, but I said it anyway.

  For a long time, he said nothing, and I waited in anticipation. Ironically, I loved that Sebastian was trying to be noble, responsible. It only made me want him more.

  “I’m going to regret this, but I can’t help myself.” His expression was wounded. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere—you choose.”

  He scratched his chin. “Hmm.”

  Was he stalling? “Searching for a way to talk me out of this?”

  “No, I’m trying to plan a fun outing for me and my stepdaughter. I know just the place. It’d do you some good to let your hair down, relax a bit. With graduation approaching, I know you’re under a lot of stress. Tomorrow night, we’ll go to a bar in Brooklyn as mates—nothing more.”

  “Okay.”

  “Besides, I want to show you fame isn’t so bad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Hmm, cryptic. “Fine, but why Brooklyn?” Sebastian might as well have picked the moon, it was so far away.

  “Trust me.” His grin was downright wicked. “Let me call that cab.”

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Five

  Poppy

  “Karaoke? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You’ll love it, Poppy.”

  Somehow, I doubted it.

  Sebastian had taken me to a forgettable little bar in Brooklyn, Finn’s, for our platonic date night. It was an out-of-the-way place, tucked into a sleepy street full of apartment buildings.

  I could see why he chose Finn’s. Unlike the staged outings I’d gone on with him and my mother, when we’d arrived in style, gotten photographed, and made a massive production of it, this place was low-key.

  The locals recognized Sebastian but didn’t make a fuss. Except for a couple who asked him to take a selfie with them, no one walked up to our table. Given their laidback attitudes, I wondered if he’d come here before.


  We got baskets of hot wings and a pitcher of beer. The other patrons were singing and drinking, ignoring us for the most part. A couple onstage performed “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing. It made me nostalgic for the movie—I’d watched it with Bettie when I was thirteen and crushed hard on the young, hot version of Patrick Swayze.

  A pang of guilt twisted my insides at the thought of my mother, which I tried to rationalize away. After all, nothing had happened. We hadn’t even hugged when I got in the cab with Sebastian. He’d offered to come up and get me, but I’d gone down to meet him so I could avoid Darcy’s I’m judging you face. She was in the dark about my decision to pursue an “unsuitable romantic attachment.”

  “Enjoying yourself, love?” He cocked a knowing brow. “Loving a taste of the simple life?”

  “Yes, thank you.” I lifted a hot wing in salute.

  It was mostly true if I could stop driving myself crazy with guilt.

  “You’ve been coming here a lot, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, to try out my new material.”

  It was a good strategy—that way he’d be able to tweak it a bit, based on the audience’s reaction.

  As I was contemplating the messiness of our potential relationship, Sebastian sprang up on stage, and the room howled in approval. They begged him to sing one of his songs instead of a karaoke number.

  “Not tonight, folks, but I’m going to have a new song ready for you in a week or two.”

  They cheered.

  Sebastian bantered with them, answering questions about his upcoming tour and when the album would drop.

  I realized Sebastian was in his element. We couldn’t be any more different. I wondered if that was why he and Bettie didn’t have a spark—both of them loved being the center of attention. Like my mother, Sebastian craved affection and recognition from strangers. It never made sense to me. My inner psychologist loved being an observer rather than a participant

  “Okay, folks, my stepdaughter and I are going to do a little number.”

  I nearly choked on my beer. What did he just say?

  After coughing it out, I shook my head furiously. Dammit, I should’ve known this sneak attack was coming. Going to a karaoke club with a singer was an invitation to perform.