Ridge

by Scott, S. L.

  The other day, she not so casually mentioned that love was worth the battle. I’m not afraid to fight. I’m just afraid to lose the war. Dad did. He loved Mom so much, and then was blindsided when she left.

  Guess she didn’t bother to let him in on her secret like she did me. “You’re either going to be the one who leads in life, or the one who’s left behind. Which will you be, Meadow?”

  “I’ll lead. I promise, Mommy.”

  “That’s my good girl.”

  Regarding my love life, I sometimes wonder if I’ve kept things casual because I’m afraid to be left behind. When my mom left, she was the first, but then others left me in her wake. Dad may have been physically there, but his mind drowned in a bottle of booze, taking his care of me with it.

  I couldn’t be happier for my sister’s new life, but I wish it wasn’t so far away from mine.

  Sitting here alone in my apartment, I have everything I said I need—the ability to concentrate on my classes. Rivers and Stella made sure I didn’t need to worry over money or work, giving me the freedom to focus. But when I look around, why do I feel like something’s missing?

  Clearly, the notes from class can’t keep my interest. I grab my phone and go into the kitchen. After filling the electric kettle, I turn it on, waiting for the magic to happen. The sound is comforting, and when I rip open a tea packet, the smell fills me with a sense of calm.

  With a moment to spare from studying, I call my sister.

  She answers on the second ring, “Hello.”

  “Heya. I got the invitation today.”

  “Yay. What do you think?”

  “It’s pretty. I like the floral design. Classy and beautiful.”

  “That’s what I was hoping for. Two months to go. I have so much to do. Hey, have you had a chance to look at the dresses yet?”

  “I looked at them, but they’re all gorgeous. You should pick your favorite.”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy, sis. I want you to have everything you dream of for this wedding.”

  “Well.” With a light laugh, she replies, “I think the purple is so pretty and would look amazing on you.”

  “The purple it is then.”

  “I’ll call the designer and let him know. So what are you up to?”

  I dunk my tea bag in the mug, leaving it to steep while I return to my desk. Sitting down, I say, “We’re three days into school, and I already feel behind. I can’t seem to get my head out of London and back into academics. Is it bad that I wish I was just graduating already?”

  “No. I think it’s natural. You had a life-alternating experience that you’ll always carry with you and has shaped your perspective.”

  “They should make us do the internship this year instead of junior year. The adjustment back into school life is rough. Oh. Before I forget, Darcy’s my plus-one.”

  “Yes, you already told me. Can’t wait to finally meet her. From her videos on Snapchat, it seems she has a large personality.”

  I join her laughter. “She does but a huge heart to match.”

  “She adores you, so I know that must true. It’s time for both of us to focus on our futures. For you to live your story.”

  “Does mine come with a happily ever after?” I laugh as if the idea itself is preposterous.

  “Of course.”

  Of course, she says as if it’s written in the stars, destiny waiting to happen. Is that true? “I’d settle for a—Oops. Never mind.”

  “What? What would you settle for?”

  Shit. “Um. Well.”

  “Well what?”

  “I miss being intimate.”

  “Oh.” The idea seems to settle in. I’ve partied and gone out with my sister many times. Me having sex isn’t news. Me talking to her about it is. “Before Rivers came back, I was lonely. I know what you mean. Do you have . . .?”

  Oh God. End this. “Yes. I have things. It’s just not the same as someone being here in person.”

  “We don’t talk about this stuff, and I guess we know each other’s . . . you know about it.”

  “Sex life?”

  “Yes. But I hadn’t thought about that with you. Do you use an app?”

  “Oh, good God. No. We’re not doing this.”

  She laughs. “I know. I’m the worst. I was never with many—” She goes silent, and then I hear panicked breaths.

  “Stella?” My hand tightens around the phone. “Stella? Say something.” I know where her thoughts have gone. She never told me all the details of what happened last year, but I hate that sick bastard for what he did to her. I hate him. Come on, Stel. Please, be okay.

  I hear her take a deep breath, thank God, and then she says, “I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Tears prick my eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s okay, Meadow.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “I meant I’m okay. I’m not that easily broken. And we should be able to talk about things. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I’m grateful I’m alive.”

  Is that the price of this happily ever after she talks about? Going to hell and hoping you’re strong enough to survive it?

  “Meadow?”

  My name pulls me from the darkest part of my mind. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  How can I say anything but yes to the woman who survived the actual attack? “Yes,” I say, finding no strength in my voice.

  “Remember who you are?”

  “Who am I?”

  “You’re my brave and amazing sister. The world is yours, Meadow. You can achieve anything you dream.”

  The words are so simple, but coming from her, I believe them. A small smile fights through the gray clouds, and I say, “I am. I’m Stella Fellowes’s, soon-to-be Stella Crow’s, sister.” I release a heavy breath and stand. “I think I need to get some vitamin D outside. I’m going for a run.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.”

  * * *

  I do yoga. I also run. I did both while in England to stay fit and healthy. But damn if the humidity and heat in Texas isn’t gonna kill me right here dead on this trail.

  I’m dripping from head to toe. Pushing into Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, I feel my hair stuck to my skin, and my socks are wet. August in Austin is a real bitch.

  After buying a large bottle of water, I find a table and try to cool off before running back toward campus. My phone vibrates against my leg, so I unzip the hidden pocket of my running pants and pull it out.

  And smile.

  “Hi,” I answer.

  Dave says, “Where are you?”

  “Austin. Where are you?”

  “Austin.”

  Oh. Ohhh. I find myself sitting up a little straighter and adjusting the waistband of my pants. “What are you doing in Austin?”

  “I was thinking we could catch a movie or something?”

  His response gives me pause, not because of what he asked, but because of what he avoided. “I’m a couple of miles from my apartment. I’ve been out running.”

  “I can pick you up?”

  Just looking out the window makes me feel hot. It’s just gone six o’clock, and I’ve hit the hottest part of the day. “I look like crap and probably smell worse.”

  Chuckling, he says, “It doesn’t matter what you look like. We’re friends, remember?” He does know me well.

  “Good point.” Very good point. Guess we’ll see how good of friends we can be when I look this hideous and probably smell worse. “Okay. I’m at Coffee Bean on South Lamar between the river and Barton Springs.”

  “You’re close. I’m downtown, so I’ll be there shortly.”

  “I’ll be the sweaty one with hairy legs.”

  “That sounds so hot.”

  “Hot is right.” I snort. “Gross hot.”

  “Still hot.”

  “I think we’re talking about two different hots here.”

  He chuckles, a
nd I like how the sound makes me feel good inside. “I’ll see you soon, Meadow.”

  I appreciate the air conditioning in here for another few minutes before I take my bottle and head out front. I’m not sure what car he’s going to be in so when one turns in, I stick out my leg and shake my ass. “Oh God. I’m sorry.” I back away from the sedan with a man driving who has kids tucked in the back.

  Horrified, I turn to hide my face. “Hey! How much?”

  “Screw y—” That familiar voice courses through me, and I turn back around to find Dave in a brand new looking shiny black Cadillac. “Nice car.”

  “Nice ass. Want a ride?”

  “Sure.” I shrug with an I don’t give a dang that I just humiliated myself smile. I get in and say, “I was told never to accept a ride from strangers.”

  “Good thing I’m not a stranger then.”

  Resting my elbow on the door, I ask, “So what brings you to town, sailor?”

  His smile slips, but it’s back in place before he has to justify the change. “Family stuff. You’re like red in the face. You know that, right?”

  I hold up the bottle. “Yeah. I was more ambitious than this heat wants me to be. I can’t say I’m complaining that I get a free ride home.”

  “That’s me. Here for the free rides. Where to, sweaty moletti?”

  11

  Meadow

  Feeling fresh as a daisy—showered, shaved, and ready to go out—I enter the living room and spin for Dave who’s sitting on the couch. Even though this friendship is new in the sense of not touching each other like we used to, I notice the way his lips part as he unapologetically takes me in, the way his body shifts, and how he seems to restrain himself by gripping his legs.

  I ask, “Do you like?”

  “I’d prefer my face on your chest,” he deadpans.

  Cheeky. I can’t help but laugh. “I meant, how do I look?”

  There’s no rush to answer. Nope, he takes his sweet time looking at me, reminding me how he used to take his time appreciating every freckle on my body. His eyes finally meet mine, and he leans forward. “Incredible.” Standing, he heads for the door, ready to leave. Without turning back, I hear him mumble, “Fuck me,” before he says louder, “Perfect for the movies with a friend.”

  He has a valid point about the friend thing, except when I look down at my short skirt and Resistance band shirt that hugs the curves of my chest, I realize that I probably shouldn’t have picked something so . . . fitted. Grabbing my purse, I follow him out the door and lock up. “Did you buy tickets?”

  “Figured we’d risk it.”

  “You always did take risks,” I reply, trying to keep it casual. I wasn’t kidding when I told Stel I missed intimacy. Dave was the last man I slept with, which means it’s been seven months since I’ve had sex. My run earlier tired me physically but not in every way.

  Stopping down the hall, he glances back. “Some paid off and some didn’t.”

  “It was worth the effort.”

  “Was it?”

  I join his side, and as we walk to the elevator, I hook my arm around his. I’m not sure if I should, but I do it anyway. Friends do this. “You’re a paid musician with the world at your feet. I say yes. It paid off.”

  “Ah. We’re talking about music. I see.”

  “What else would we be talking about?”

  “Nothing else, I guess.”

  When the elevator doors open, we walk in with me still draped around him. I get a good feel of his hard muscles before I release him, my stomach twisting in little knots as I move to the other side of the elevator.

  Darcy and I often walked arm in arm, and as much as I like to tell myself that doing that with Dave is the same, it’s not. It’s so not. I know this man, and I know him intimately. His body. His touch. Him. And that makes something very clear—my body reacts very differently when I touch Dave Carson. With heat. With desire.

  Darcy never made me feel like this.

  * * *

  Dave and I were friends before.

  I don’t know why I’ve felt as though we have to start again. We don’t. We’re just not supposed to have sex anymore.

  My sex drive cries.

  I haven’t been with many, but I can imagine that no one will ever live up to Dave between the sheets . . . on the counter . . . in the shower . . . that one time in the movie theater. I look over at him in the dark theater, indulging in how strong a jaw he has and those pillowy lips that have been everywhere on my body. Remembering how I came during an eleven a.m. showing of a James Bond movie once.

  He catches me eyeing him and leans over. “Not enjoying the movie?”

  “The movie’s fine.”

  Angling over, he whispers, “Remember that time we—”

  “God, yes.” I press my arm against his to get closer because I’m so turned on just thinking about it. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  He starts laughing. “That was so fun.”

  “Fun? What?” I mean it was fun but not in a comedy way. “What are you thinking about?”

  “That midnight swim at Blue Hole. What were you thinking about?”

  Oh God. I slink into my seat as far down as I can go without my ass hanging off the end. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” I wave him off, hoping he doesn’t realize I was actually getting aroused from a memory. A different memory than the one he mentioned. “I was not thinking of anything but this movie.” Holding my finger to my lips, I shush him. “Shh. We should just watch the movie. This weird, weird movie.”

  His hazels stay on me as if I’m the entertainment in this theater. Without looking, I push his chin until he’s facing the movie. That makes him laugh—too loud—and we draw attention. When he eyes me again, I just hold my finger to his lips this time. “Shh.”

  His hand slides under mine on the shared armrest, and our fingers fold together. Sliding down low enough to be equal with me, he leans over the armrest, invading my space again how I like it, even if I am the only one who remembers how I came on his hand in the middle of a movie theater. Guess it’s a little harder for me to forget. With two fingers . . . two strong, hot fingers that made me—“Meadow?”

  “Huh?” I ask on the verge of a panting breath.

  He turns my chin in his direction. “Hey. I was just teasing. I wasn’t really thinking about the skinny dipping.”

  “What were you thinking about then?”

  “How wet you were when I fucked you with my fingers the last time we came to the theater together. How your body clenched around me while urging me for more. How your eyes closed and your mouth opened.” His breath against my neck causes my breathing to deepen. His words in my ears make my nipples hard. “I was thinking about how I kissed you while you came and how I swallowed your moans.” I bite my bottom lip and slide my gaze down to his lap. Seeing how hard he is makes me wet for him all over again. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Yes.”

  He stands and with our hands still together, he leads us down the back aisle and toward the exit. As soon as the light from the lobby hits us, my hand is released, and he shoves his into his pockets, pushing them forward. “What do you want to do?”

  I roll my eyes and storm toward the doors. “You’re the worst friend ever.” Although I’m technically teasing, I’m also being left high and . . . well, wet.

  “What’d I do?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I need a stiff . . .” He cocks an eyebrow, and I burst his bubble. “Drink.”

  “I think I do too now.”

  “All’s fair.”

  “In love and war. But how does friendship play into that?”

  “You’re really bad at this friend thing, Carson.”

  He shrugs as he chuckles while dangling the keys around his middle finger. “I was great at the friend with benefits thing, though. Why’d we give up the benefits again?”

  We reach the car, standing on either side of it. The locks pop up, and I open my door. “Because ‘more’ got inv
olved.”

  “Ah. That’s right. Now I remember. Heaven forbid two people who like spending time together and have fantastic sex together want more.”

  “Heaven forbid.” I bite my lip to keep from kissing his because it would be heaven to have that fantastic sex together again. He drives a hard bargain. Among other things, he’s very skilled at driving and has me wishing I could fuck forbid and throw caution to the wind.

  * * *

  Laughing like a lunatic, I pick up my glass only to realize it’s empty. “Did you drink my drink?”

  “No,” he says, smirking. “You did. Good thing you’re not driving. By the way, I like your new apartment.”

  “I moved my stuff in last January, but as you know, I left right after. I haven’t had time to do too much decorating, but I guess it’s home.”

  “Do you still have your place?”

  “I pay to store my shit, but I need to clean it out soon. Most of my stuff is probably garbage. Obviously, I don’t need it since I’ve gone so long without it. It’s just easier to pay rent than to go through the crap.”

  “I can help, if you want.”

  Something flashes in his eyes, and a smile settles. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re busy with your own life.”

  Resting my chin on my hand, I lean forward. “You can ask me for anything.”

  “Don’t offer yourself up so easily, Meadow Soleil.”

  I’m still so confused as to when exactly I finished my drink. I reach for the bottle, but he takes hold of the neck. “But that’s what fri—”

  “Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

  “I do.” Holding my glass between us, I say, “Fill ’er up, rock star.”

  He rests back on the couch, cradling the bottle to his chest. Lucky bottle. “I think you’ve had enough. That you don’t remember the last might be a good sign to have some water.”

  “I think you’re right.” Pushing off the chair, I grab two bottles from the fridge, tossing one to him and opening the other for me.

  While I swallow the cold liquid, Dave asks, “Question. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  Maybe the water is too cold because I freeze under the question. When I lower it to the counter, I look at him as though he might know the answer. He doesn’t. Staring at me, he says, “You’re fun and beautiful. So fucking smart. Any guy would be lucky to get to spend time with you. You’re a catch.”