Wild Ride (Let it Ride Book 2)

by Cynthia Rayne

  The bar patrons clapped and whistled their approval.

  He crooked a finger at me.

  Not a chance in hell, Sebastian.

  “Come on, people, she’s a bit shy. Let’s give her a little encouragement.”

  “Sing! Sing! Sing!” they chanted.

  I rubbed my neck as they all stared at me. The social pressure to go along was overwhelming.

  Fine.

  With a groan, I stomped up the stairs and stood beside Sebastian on the stage. The group clapped—pleased that I’d given into the mob mentality, I guess.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered.

  Sebastian held a hand over the microphone. “Of course you can. I’ve heard you sing before, and you did quite well.”

  “That was for fun.”

  “So’s this. Come on, let’s get some of your angst out.”

  And then the song started up—“Scream,” a duet by Michael and Janet Jackson. At least I wouldn’t be singing all by myself, which was something of a relief. It was a good song that I already knew.

  Although I couldn’t look any more awkward, standing next to a man who’d played arenas and seemed at home on the stage. Somehow I got through it, though.

  The patrons exploded in applause afterward, and I realized I had a big smile on my face, despite my misgivings. Sebastian grabbed my hand, and together we took a bow.

  Being the center of attention hadn’t been so bad. In fact, once I had another couple beers in me, I did Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off.”

  On the car ride home, he nudged my elbow. “Admit it—you enjoyed the limelight tonight.”

  “Yes, it wasn’t too bad.” On impulse, I hugged his arm. The taxi driver had a call-in show blasting on the radio and wasn’t paying us much attention.

  Sebastian’s gaze dropped to my mouth. “I should take you home.”

  And then everything would go back to normal. In a few months, I’d go to grad school and meet a boy closer to my own age. Or I could go back to his place and see what happened.

  This might as well be one of those cartoons where a devil and angel perched on my shoulders—Kate and Darcy, tugging me in two different directions.

  “Poppy? Say something.”

  “I’m thinking.” There was so much eye sex going on, I found it difficult to think.

  “I’m trying my damnedest to be proper.”

  I batted my eyelashes, letting my inner femme fatale out to play.

  “Tonight was supposed to be a friendly outing.”

  “Our feelings are more than friendly.”

  He snorted. “An understatement, love, but we can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “You really want the list?” he asked.

  “You made a list?”

  “Of course I did.” Sebastian ticked them off on his fingers. “Your mother, our careers, the age difference—”

  “And what about our feelings?”

  He turned away. “What if the production company found out? They’d slap your mum and me with a breach of contract suit.”

  The Lovesick producers covered their bases because they’d sold an illusion of a love match—two damaged people who’d overcome their addictions. It made for good publicity, even if it wasn’t true.

  “That means the only obstacle you see is the agreement you and Mom signed.”

  “We’d have to sneak around.” I wasn’t sure if Sebastian was trying to talk himself out of a fling or into one.

  “I understand. Look, I know this isn’t something permanent—our lives are headed in different directions. So what’s the harm in giving in, if no one finds out? It could be our little secret.”

  For a long time, he said nothing.

  I couldn’t make heads nor tails of his inscrutable expression.

  Then Sebastian gave the taxi cab driver my address.

  Aw, hell. I’d overplayed my hand. And I wasn’t masochistic enough to try this again.

  “I’m taking you home.” He held up a hand when I started to protest. “But we’ll go out again tomorrow night.”

  “We will?” My body was thrumming with new excitement.

  “Yes, because I’ve finally hit my limit, love. I can’t take any more temptation.” He held his hands up. “So, I surrender—I’m officially over it.”

  “Over what, exactly?”

  “I should be clear: I’m done with pretending I don’t need you. I’m done with worrying about the fallout, and I’m too weak to resist you anymore.”

  I was thrown by his admission of defeat. Have you ever wanted something really bad and then got it unexpectedly? Did it ever leave you wondering what the catch is?

  I knew how Kate would respond. She’d fling herself into Sebastian’s arms and not worry about any repercussions.

  “But I want a twenty-four-hour cooling-off period for both us before we do anything.”

  Another date? Fine by me.

  “Where are we going?”

  His eyes danced with wicked glee. “You’ll see. But I can tell you this—you’ll need formalwear for the occasion, and I’ll take care of the mask.”

  “Well, I’m intrigued.”

  “Good.”

  “And what if someone sees us?” Going out for wings and karaoke was innocent enough, but it sounded like he had something romantic in mind. “We’ll be tailed if we go out someplace conspicuous.”

  “Like I said, masks are involved. Trust me?”

  “Okay.” Guess I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

  When we pulled up in front of my apartment complex, Sebastian told the driver to wait while he walked me to the door. We lingered for the longest time, and I thought he might kiss me again.

  I leaned with my back against the wall, and Sebastian stood in front of me. More than anything, I wanted another kiss.

  Mindful of the other people on the street, Sebastian smooched my forehead, then whispered, “I’m coming for you, Poppy, and I’m not going to stop until I get what I want. Consequences be damned.”

  And then he was gone, leaving me a quivering mess on the sidewalk.

  Chapter Six

  Poppy

  “Come on, do shots with us!”

  When I walked in the front door, Kate’s drunken bellow came from the living room. I found my best friends on the couch with four shot glasses lined up along the coffee table, along with a bottle of Grey Goose.

  Well, why not? I’d had a long week, and I was about to embark on a scandalous affair. Might as well take the edge off.

  “What are we drinking to?” I threw my coat across the back of a chair.

  “To our senior year.” Darcy raised her glass, and the rest of us followed suit, then downed our drinks.

  “To great friends.” Kate poured us all another round, and we drank again.

  “How about a toast to forbidden love—the subject of many novels.” Darcy doled out more shots and then glanced at me meaningfully.

  I ignored her and finished my vodka.

  At this rate, I’d be hammered in a matter of minutes. And as for forbidden love, I doubt it made anyone happy, which is why it’s the subject of so many freaking novels.

  “Oh, and we gotta drink to Jackson,” Kate slurred.

  “Who’s that?” Seemed like I’d missed some stuff.

  “Will’s older brother.” Iris leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. “Ugh, the room’s starting to spin.” After recovering, she filled us in on the details.

  Jackson was the black sheep of the Archibald family. His father screwed around with a nanny and Jackson was the result. Although he’d had access to family money, Jackson made his own way in the world and told his father to take the trust fund and stuff it where the sun didn’t shine.

  I liked his principles. It took some balls to walk away from all that cash with your pride intact.

  “And why are we drinking to him? What did he do?”

  “He asked Iris out,” Darcy said.

&nbs
p; “To Jackson!” I lifted my shot in appreciation.

  “I vote you screw him and then report back to the group.” Kate snapped her fingers. “And look—I just came up with your last gasp.”

  Iris scowled. “I turned him down.”

  “Why would you do that?” I’m no revenge expert, but dating Will’s brother ought to make her feel better. And if Jackson was willing to along with it, that’d make it even sweeter. Since he had his own ax to grind with the Archibalds, it looked like a win-win situation to me.

  “Because I’m still in love with Will.”

  “Why? He’s an asshole.” Kate had never been much of a diplomat.

  “Believe me, I know I’m pathetic, but there’s something about him. Will’s my first love, and he’s special.” Iris lifted her chin as though daring us to contradict her.

  Will might’ve been Iris’s first love, but the feeling hadn’t been mutual. He’d been playing around with her while dating his fiancée, Jolie Irving. When Iris found out, she broke off the relationship, but not before her heart had gotten shattered in the process.

  Why did terrible things happen to decent people? Iris was the last person who deserved that kind of pain.

  “Give me one reason why you shouldn’t,” Kate said.

  “Going out with Jackson would be the nuclear option.”

  “Hold up, you want to get back together with him?” As far as I was concerned, this was just plain crazy talk.

  Iris stared at the floor. “I know—it’s ridiculous.”

  Darcy sighed. “At least give Donavan a chance. Maybe he’ll take your mind off Will. He’s a good guy.”

  “You know him?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I met him at one of my father’s book signings, and we got to chatting afterward. Jackson reminds me of Knightley.”

  Darcy’s literary references were mostly lost on the group.

  She sighed as though we were hopeless. “Knightley from Jane Austen’s Emma. Everyone goes on and on about how perfect Darcy is, but Knightley is kind and virtuous. Will could learn a thing or two from him.” She turned to Iris. “You could take Jackson as a date to Will’s wedding. That’s very Austen-esque.” Right after graduation, Will and Jolie were getting married on Martha’s Vineyard.

  “I’m not attending the ceremony—I wasn’t invited, and wouldn’t go even if he had sent me an announcement. And certainly not with Jackson.” Her nostrils flared, and Iris was on the verge of a “hissy fit,” to use one of her phrases.

  We backed off for a bit. But later on, I planned on convincing Iris to go for it.

  “All right, we need to clear the air. There’s been a lot of secret-keeping going on. Anyone have something to share?” Darcy’s expression was hawkish as she glanced my way.

  I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.

  “Fine, I’m having an affair with my stepdad. Sort of.”

  Iris choked on her drink, Kate gave me a boozy thumbs-up, and Darcy looked relieved, if a bit disappointed in me. Keeping the secret had been too much for her.

  “But I’m not the only one who should confess. From what I hear, it’s good for the soul.” I turned to Darcy. “Anything you’d care to share with the group?”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Yeah, me either.” Kate grinned.

  Something was up with her. I was betting she was sleeping with her boss, but I didn’t say anything in front of the others.

  “Fine, I have an attraction to Ian, er, Dr. Sterling, but it isn’t going anywhere,” Darcy said. “I won’t let it.”

  Yeah, I would’ve said the same thing about Sebastian and me a week ago. Good luck, girl.

  After the party had broken up, Darcy followed me to my room. Her brow was furrowed, and I could tell she needed to talk.

  “What if I’m not sure about pursuing my graduate program anymore?”

  The last time I’d heard, everything was settled. Darcy planned on getting a master’s degree in literature, and then a doctoral degree. Her path to a professorship had been in place since she’d been in diapers.

  “Why not?”

  I sat down on the bed because I was unsteady on my feet. The beer I’d had at the karaoke bar combined with the vodka was starting to hit me.

  “What I wanted to do something else instead?”

  Darcy shuffled her feet on the floor. I could tell her anxiety was building. She had a history of panic attacks, and keeping her cool in stressful situations was hard. Which is why I think Darcy avoids drama at all costs.

  “Like?”

  “Like becoming an author instead.”

  At first, I thought she was joking, but she was dead serious.

  Going into a creative field wasn’t the safe or responsible thing to do. My mom’s career had violent swings—up and down. When I’d gotten older, she’d told me a time or two she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make the rent.

  “I know it sounds insane, but I can’t stop thinking about being a writer. I’ve got a million ideas tucked away in a notebook.”

  At my high school graduation, the commencement speaker had advised us to pursue our dreams. Isn’t that the theme of every graduation speech? Regardless, it was good advice. Better to be poor doing something you love than rich spending every day at a job you hate.

  “You should follow your dream, then.”

  “What if I fail?”

  “What if you don’t? Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened?” It was hardly the same thing, but I’d never regret pursuing Sebastian. If I hadn’t said or done something, I’d be always left wondering. At least this way, my regrets weren’t about what could’ve been or should’ve been.

  “No, I guess not.” She bit her lip. “I let my father read my first novel.”

  Without hearing the rest of the story, I already knew it was a mistake. Her dad was a raging narcissist. One of the perks of being a psych major is diagnosing the people around you.

  I wondered if Darcy would ever stop trying to impress him, because she’d never get the praise she sought.

  “And what did he say?” I was betting it was something hurtful.

  “That I don’t have any real talent for the written word and I should stick to learning about great literature.”

  I gasped.

  The man was a self-important dick. Personally, I thought finishing a novel was a huge accomplishment on its own.

  “No offense, but your father’s an ass.”

  “My dad might be critical, but he’s had a couple dozen books land on the New York Times list. His opinion means something. But I can’t stop thinking about writing.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Do you know I’ve never impressed him? Not with my good grades, nor any awards I’ve won.”

  “You’re a straight-A student at an Ivy League school. What more could he possibly want from you?” Maybe his standards were a bit too high.

  “Intellectually, I’ll never measure up no matter what I do, but I can’t stop myself from trying.” She was growing more agitated—rocking in place, her gaze darting around the room. “If I show him my good grades, he’ll say I should’ve taken on a heavier load, since the ones I selected must’ve been too easy.”

  “When’s the last time you’ve taken an easy course at Columbia?” I’d had to work my butt off in every single one of my classes.

  “I know.” Her lips twisted. “Get this—I wrote an essay on Jane Austen’s life for a prize. It was a very completive scholarship application, and I beat out a thousand other applicants. I thought I’d earn some praise if I did something in his field. But he told me it was a minor award—and then he listed all the honors he’d won.”

  I grasped her arm. “Darcy, don’t let anyone tell you’re that you’re not worthy.”

  There were tears in her eyes.

  And then I pulled her into a hug. As a rule, Darcy wasn’t one for physical affection
, but we stood there for the longest time. We both needed a hug.

  Eventually, she cleared her throat, and we pulled back.

  I’d like to think I helped her, but I knew better. Darcy would have to figure this out for herself, break her father’s hold on what little self-esteem she had left.

  Her eyes were watery. “Ever get the feeling like this is the end of an era?”

  “That’s because it is—adulthood is almost upon us.” Some of my friends who’d gone into business startups instead of college had already crossed that threshold. College had only delayed the inevitable.

  “I wish we would’ve talked like this more often.”

  “Me too.”

  “For what it’s worth, I hope things work out for you and Sebastian.

  “You do?”

  “For your sake, at least. I want you to be happy.”

  “Thanks, Darcy.”

  But somehow, I knew we were both headed for disappointment.

  Chapter Seven

  Poppy

  The next morning, I was nursing a head-splitting hangover. Aspirin didn’t even touch the painful throbbing. Note to self: take a break from the hooch. Despite the sickness, I was planning an expedition to my mother’s apartment to retrieve a dress.

  Suddenly, my phone rang. According to caller ID, it was Sebastian, and my mouth went dry. Well, drier. I let it go for three rings, so I didn’t seem eager. Oh, the games we play.

  Finally, I hit the green button. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, love. Calling in to check in.”

  “Or to see if I was chickening out?” Fat chance—this date was on like Donkey Kong, mister.

  “Are you?”

  “Nope, I’m planning a heist to get my formalwear as we speak.”

  “A heist?” I could hear the hum of traffic around him, and from the pattern of his breathing, I guessed he was going for a walk.

  “Since we're all fancy tonight, I need a full-length formal. Those are kept at Mom’s apartment, since I don’t have the closet space.”

  I had a particular dress in mind. I’d worn it to Bettie’s benefit last summer for Rachel’s House, a shelter for women in recovery from addiction. She held an annual fundraiser to “pay it forward” because she’d had the resources to spend on rehab, but not everyone did. Some people had to white-knuckle their way through it on their own.