Zero to Sixty

by Marie Harte

  “You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” The familiar panic returned. That Foley would belong to someone else. Then what would Sam do, all alone? Lou was the only guy left at the garage without a girl. Hell, even his bosses, Del and Liam, had found happiness with significant others.

  Sam’s whole life was changing at rapid rate, one he feared would leave him far behind.

  “I’m sure as hell going to marry her. Just as soon as she says yes.”

  “You asked her?”

  “Well, she’s kind of being backward about it. She’s waiting to get knocked up before we say our ‘I do’s.’ But she’s only giving that six months. So in another three, if Foley Junior isn’t already cooking, we’ll set an actual date.”

  Sam blinked. “Foley Junior?”

  “You’ll be an uncle when that happens. Can you imagine?” Foley laughed, joy making his gray eyes bright.

  Sam swallowed around a dry throat. “I can just see a baby with tats over his arms. I wonder how Cyn will feel about that.”

  “Very funny.” Foley stood and stretched. “I’m thinking it will be a she. And yeah, Cyn will shit a brick when I get the kid ink to match mine.” They both knew he was kidding. “Not up her neck though, like her Uncle Sam. Just her forearms, ’cause I want her to be all womanly.”

  “And neck tats aren’t?” Sam said dryly, still coming to grips with the fact his best friend was moving on and growing up. A wife, kids. Would Foley ever have time for him anymore? And what kind of neurotic asshole thought about himself and his own problems instead of being glad for a guy he’d kill for?

  “Before you start overdoing that weird panicked thing where you see everyone leaving you”—uncanny how the guy could read him—“you’re always going to be in my life, dude. So suck it up and prepare for a lot of diaper changing and babysitting duty. Oh, and dinner at Cyn’s place Friday night.”

  “Uh, okay.” He paused. “Diapers? Seriously?”

  “Hell yeah. If Cyn thinks I’m doing all that crap while she brings in the bucks, she’s deluded.” Foley shook his head. “Pretty and smart, but deluded. I’m roping the entire garage into the baby stuff.” He paused, and a flash of nerves settled over his face. “You want to know something? Lately, she’s been acting weird. She’s either premenstrual or hormonal for another reason.” The pleasure on Foley’s face was impossible to miss. “I’m hoping for the kid.”

  Foley had only been dating Cyn for close to four months, but the guy had known she was it from the beginning. Foley was like that. He loved you or hated you, and there was no in-between. For all that he appeared like a murdering thug with that muscle and a glare he could turn on or off at will, Foley Sanders was the genuine article. A nice guy.

  Cyn had lucked out when she’d met him, and she knew it. Now that Sam knew how much she loved his buddy, he could accept her. Especially because she seemed to want to include Sam on things. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Foley forcing her to invite him to stuff, but Sam wasn’t too proud to accept a free meal or a movie with the pair.

  “What’s she making for dinner?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Nah.” The phone buzzed in his hands, and he tensed. After a moment, he looked down and read the text from Ivy. Dread once again settled in his stomach.

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “She’s getting someone else to take her to work tomorrow, but she said thanks anyway.”

  “That’s not bad.”

  “It’s not good either.” Sam shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I’m beat. Going to bed.”

  “Ice that eye. You know it’ll look work worse if you don’t. And know you’re going to get a ration of shit from Del and Liam tomorrow because of it.”

  “Hell.” With any luck, Liam wouldn’t be in the next day, playing retired guy instead.

  Sam had taken a few stairs toward his bedroom when Foley called out, “You know, if you want to try smoothing things over with Ivy, why not send her some flowers? That’s always a nice touch.”

  Sam continued up the stairs and got ready for bed. He dumped his dirty clothes near the pile he thought were dirty. Then he sidestepped a few stacks of magazines and crap from the garage he’d brought home. A few sets of tools he should organize. When he had more time.

  He slid into bed and pulled his phone and a pad of a paper close and made some notes. Flowers. Not a bad idea, Foley. Sam dragged a credit card out of his wallet and made it happen. He closed his eyes, feeling better about his chances.

  Sometime later, he blinked his eyes open into a pitch-black room…and prayed Ivy wasn’t allergic to pollen.

  * * *

  Wednesday afternoon, Ivy finished her third client and waved as he left her with a healthy tip. Her stomach distracted her with a rumble that let her know she’d missed lunch. After stripping the sheets and putting on fresh ones for her two o’clock appointment, she wandered to the tiny fridge and stared at her unappetizing salad.

  Just as she prepared to reach for her drab lettuce and bruised tomatoes with a side of low-cal, tasteless Italian dressing, the bell over the front door chimed.

  She gladly left her lunch behind and moved to the front, aware Denise was currently working on someone in the second massage room.

  A young woman carrying two vases of flowers set them down on the counter in front of her computer.

  Ivy stared. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m looking for Ivy Stephens.”

  “That’s me.”

  “These are for you. Oh, and I’m not done. I’ll be back.”

  Ivy blinked at a dozen yellow roses in a pretty glass vase and a colorful spring bouquet in a smaller, rounder glass container. The delivery woman returned with a bunch of purple irises mixed with lilies, what appeared to be daisies, and sprigs of baby breath in a purple vase; another bunch of daisies, these all white; and a potted lavender plant.

  Ivy gaped, not sure what the heck was going on. “Who are these from?”

  The lady shrugged. “There’s a card with the roses. Oh, and another here.” She pulled a larger envelope from beneath the lavender. “Have a great day!” She left before Ivy could tip her.

  Stunned, Ivy couldn’t look away from all the pretty flowers, wondering who on earth had sent them. Sam immediately came to mind, and she shoved the memory of his big hands and even bigger body behind her embarrassment.

  A glance at the card in the roses told her nothing. “‘I’m sorry’?”

  Who had anything to be sorry about, especially in regards to her? It was too little too late to be from Max. Last she’d heard, he’d moved to the East Coast. She hadn’t talked to him in two wonderfully long years.

  She supposed the flowers could be from Sam, but what did he have to be sorry about? She’d jumped the poor man. Not only that, now she had to massage him—nonsexually, she reminded herself—in return for him fixing her car.

  After all he’d done for her, Sam had once again been a nice guy and asked her last night if she needed a ride to work. She’d been way too embarrassed to take him up on his offer. So she’d taken the bus that morning. It had been a hassle but better than having Denise or Sue drive across town to get her. And with Shelby putting most of her efforts into her Green Lake office, Ivy had the management hat and said responsibilities for the Queen Anne Bodyworks.

  As it was, she’d put aside some money to use Uber to get home tonight.

  Staring at the back of the larger envelope she hadn’t yet opened, she removed the note.

  Handwritten in bold caps, it read:

  IVY, SORRY ABOUT LAST NIGHT. DIDN’T MEAN TO COME ON TO STRONG. HOPE YOUR NOT MAD AT ME. I REALLY AM SORRY. WILL FIX YOUR CAR NO CHARGE. HOPE YOUR OK. SORRY AGAIN. TELL COOKIE I SAID HI. —SAM

  She read the note three times before understanding set in. The grammatical mistakes were oddly charming
. But Sam was…sorry? What the heck had he done but give her an orgasm? She recalled exploding like a supernova after about three seconds of his large palm grinding against her through her pants. Then she’d frozen, unable to look the poor man in the eye. That same poor man who had left her in a hurry, with a massive erection still in his jeans.

  So, one, he’d given her a good time. Two, he hadn’t gotten his. And, three, he’d left mistakenly thinking he’d offended her somehow. All that merited flowers, apologies, and free work on her car?

  Conflicting emotions fought for supremacy. Mortification from coming like a shot. Pleasure that he cared what she thought. Dismay he obviously considered himself the reason she’d been unable to face him, and finally, and most importantly, a burning responsibility to make things right.

  She glanced at the time and realized her conversation with Sam would have to wait. No way she’d do this through a text or phone call. They needed to meet face-to-face. Her next client would arrive in half an hour, and she had one more after that. She grabbed her phone and sent Sam a text.

  He answered right away. He planned to work late tonight, so he’d be available anytime she wanted to talk.

  As soon as she finished her massages, she planned to set the poor man straight.

  Imagine being sorry for having given her more sexual pleasure than she’d had with a man in years? Max had been good in bed, but they hadn’t shared the chemistry Ivy felt with Sam. Sure, she could chalk up her desire to it being a product of prolonged abstinence, but she knew it was more than that.

  Sam had a powerful aura, one that screamed sexy and dangerous and careful all in the same breath. Anyone watching him with Cookie would be able to tell he cared, and deeply. Heck, he’d been a real softie with Willie, and that old lady had griped and ordered him around like she owned him.

  Ivy ignored her salad, unable to stop thinking about Sam. She took care of her SOAP notes—patient forms that created a solid history for each client—then did some billing. Another reason Shelby had been more than willing to take Ivy on as a partner—Ivy could handle insurance. A real pain, but Ivy had patience and the smarts to handle it.

  The bell over the door chimed, and she glanced up to see a tall, gorgeous redhead approaching the counter.

  Ivy smiled. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  The woman smiled back. “I’m Cynthia Nichols, and I’m here for my two o’clock appointment. But please, call me Cyn.”

  Ivy nodded. “That would be with me. I’m Ivy.” She stood and circled the counter to hold out a hand.

  Cyn shook it, a hearty handshake that told Ivy more about her next patient than looks would. Cyn walked with a steady posture and smooth gait. She had even shoulders, not internally rotated or uneven, despite the large bust size that led many such women to hunch their shoulders. Cyn was proud of her looks and confident. The steady eye contact and firm shake said as much.

  “I received the online forms you filled out.” A comprehensive history intake and release of liability. Ivy moved to a close-by drawer and fished out the clipboard holding Cyn’s printed-out information. “Is this still good, or do you have info to add?” She handed it to Cyn.

  After looking it over, Cyn gave it back. “Nope. It’s good.”

  “Anything you’d like me to focus on today?” Ivy led Cyn to her room.

  “Upper body and neck, but I’m hoping for an all-over massage. Work has been making me tense.”

  “No problem.” She gave Cyn the spiel about using the bathroom prior to the massage and how to prepare for the session. Then she folded down the top sheet and blanket. “Get facedown, in between the sheets. I’m going to go wash my hands. I’ll knock before I come back. Any questions?”

  Cyn smiled. “Nope. Sounds good. I’ve been waiting all week for this.”

  “And it’s only Wednesday.”

  Cyn laughed. “Can you tell I’m stressed?”

  Ivy left her to her privacy, then returned shortly and entered after Cyn’s okay. After adjusting the blanket and sheets, she began the massage to the accompaniment of soothing yet upbeat spa music. No reason a massage had to be given to pan flutes and tinkling pipes all the time.

  Since Ivy liked to let her clients dictate the tone of the massage, she normally didn’t speak unless spoken to. About a third of the way into the hour, Cyn murmured through the open portion of the face cradle, “Can I ask a question?”

  Ivy dug into the middle of Cyn’s back, working her rhomboids and upper traps. The woman sure had hypertonic tissue. “Ask away.”

  “What’s with all the flowers out there?”

  Ivy sighed. “They’re mine, apparently.”

  “Yeah? Lucky girl.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh?”

  “Do you really want to hear this? It’s your massage. You should relax.” In fact, the woman seemed to be tensing up as they spoke.

  “I’m always relaxed hearing about other people’s problems.”

  Ivy knew better than to overshare with clients, especially new ones. So she kept it simple. “A friend and I had a misunderstanding. He thinks I’m mad at him. I thought he was mad at me. I’m going to fix it later.”

  Cyn eased back into the table. She hadn’t been kidding about other people’s problems. “Misunderstandings are the worst.” She groaned as Ivy found a trigger point. “That feels so good. Maybe you should give your friend a massage. I bet he’d forgive anything if you did that to him.”

  Ivy chuckled and continued to soothe the knots in Cyn’s back. The massage continued without issue, with Cyn sighing or groaning from the release of tension. After having her turn over under the blanket, Ivy proceeded to work on her neck, discovering more issues. “You have stuck scalenes,” she murmured. “And your SCM is like a rubber band about to snap.”

  “Keep doing that.” Cyn turned her head at Ivy’s guidance. “Man. I wish I could teach my boyfriend to do all this.”

  “I hear that a lot from clients. Have him do this.” Ivy demonstrated a particular spot on Cyn, then had Cyn gently rotate her neck from side to side. “Just make sure he’s not too firm. You don’t want injury, just muscle release.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Cyn sighed.

  Ivy left her neck and continued to work, eventually finishing up with the woman’s elegant feet. The hour seemed over before she’d begun. She left Cyn to get changed and met her outside at the desk.

  Cyn handed her a credit card without being asked. “Best money I’ve spent in months, and I buy a lot of shoes. I love shoes. I buy a nice pair at least once a month. That’s telling you something.”

  Ivy grinned. “A true compliment. Thank you.” She handed back Cyn’s card, then heard a beep on her phone. “Excuse me for a minute.” She handed over the credit slip to be signed, then read a text. “Shoot.”

  “Problem?” Cyn handed back the signed slip, which included a generous tip.

  “Nothing serious.” Her next client had something come up last minute, so they’d need to reschedule. Which Ivy would do with no problem. She loved Barbara Maycomb, and she totally understood.

  Ivy reached for Sam’s note and tucked into her purse, then grabbed her jacket while Cyn made small talk.

  “Are you leaving too?” Cyn asked.

  “Yep. Gotta hurry so I can catch the bus.” Not to mention figure out which one would take her closest to the garage.

  “Oh, hey, I can take you wherever you need to go. I’m heading back to work anyway.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “It’s no problem. Really.” Cyn rolled her neck on her shoulders. “I feel soooo good right now. You could ask me for anything and I’d give it to you.”

  Ivy wasn’t sure.

  “Where are you heading?” Cyn prodded.

  “I need to go to Webster’s Garage.”

 
Cyn beamed. “That’s right on my way.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. I own NCB, the coffee shop, with my brother and his wife. It’s just a few doors down from Webster’s.”

  “Well, then.” Ivy’s day looked brighter. “Thanks. I’d love a ride.”

  What were the odds? All the signs pointed to Ivy having a talk with Sam. No sense in putting it off. She could only hope Sam would forgive her. She didn’t think she had enough in her monthly budget to buy him a ton of flowers.

  Chapter 7

  Sam did his best to hide his face either under a car or under a hood. For the better part of the day, he’d been successful. Then Liam ordered his sorry ass to take a break, because he wasn’t a “demon, whip-wielding, power-hungry manager without a care for his employees” like some people. Obviously it was aimed at Del, but she only grumbled and slammed back into her office while she did the monthly paperwork that always turned her bitchy. Well, bitchier than normal.

  The woman had been on edge lately. The wedding that should have happened two months ago had been postponed due to issues with the venue where it was to be held. But nothing stood in the way of her becoming Del McCauley in another month. Nerves were making her brittle, and her father had way too much fun rubbing it in.

  “That girl is stressed, no doubt.” Liam’s chuckle showed his lack of empathy. “Nothing like seeing my little girl freaking out because of her wedding to put a smile on my face. My soon-to-be little Delilah McCauley. I’m so proud.”

  Johnny, the dumbass, joined in on the teasing. But Foley and Sam knew to be quiet. With Lou painting at Heller’s today, they didn’t have his mouth to deal with. The paintwork had to happen where they had facilities to accommodate all the toxic fumes. Enter Heller’s Paint and Auto Body, formerly Heller’s Paint Shop. The Websters and Heller had some kind of deal going on commissions, so they sent all their custom-art jobs there.

  Sam didn’t much care, so long as that daunting bastard kept his ass away from the shop. Sam had seen and done a lot in his life. But Heller made him uneasy. At six six and not an ounce of fat on him, he looked like the poster child for the Aryan race. Back when the guy had worn his head shaved, Sam had worried they’d been dealing with a skinhead. Since Lou was Latino, J.T. African American, and half their clientele something other than white, he’d wondered what the guy had on the Websters to make them deal with him. Turned out Heller had just had a bad haircut. Now he had longer hair. Still a scary motherfucker, but not so racist-scary anymore.