by Marie Harte
One of the women started talking about gratis, and he zoned out.
An interminable twenty minutes later, after they’d left the store and headed toward Westlake Center, he handed the card to Eileen. It wouldn’t do for Ivy to find it and think he was cheating on her before they’d even gotten started.
She turned it over and chuckled. “Another one, Sam?”
“What?”
She showed him Ashlee’s card. Scrawled on the back had been a cell number and, above it, a heart and “Call me.”
He shrugged. “It’s the tats. They all want a bad boy until they get one.” He smiled, showing a lot of teeth.
Eileen gave a mock cringe. “Nicely scary. Now tell me about this girlfriend of yours, and I might—might—delay my shopping excursion and enjoy a latte instead.”
He held her bags in one hand and directed her to a local coffee shop with the other.
Once settled down with caffeine and a bunch of pastries, he found himself under the gun.
“I’m waiting.” She blew on her coffee and took a sip. “Is she pretty?”
Sam bit into his cinnamon roll and said, with his mouth filled to annoy Eileen, “No, she’s a hag. But she has big breasts and a fat ass, so it’s all good.”
Next to them, an older man scowled while his teenage companion grinned. “See, Grandpa? Thick is in, man. Told you.”
The old man made them switch seats.
Eileen sighed. She tapped her long nails on the table, rolling them from pinkie to thumb. The woman was a real estate guru. She had the patience of Job between waiting on finicky clients and having raised Foley and Sam.
Sam swallowed his sugar and washed it down with black coffee. “Ah. Better.”
“Try again.”
He would have liked to give her the brush off, but he loved Eileen. She never judged, never threw him back to the mess that was his life unless he put himself there. Hell, she’d tried her best to get him to come live with them when he’d been younger, but his mother would never have gone for that—God forbid he find love and happiness away from Louise and her crap-hole of an existence. Yet he’d still spent as much time as he could at Eileen’s or with Foley.
“Jeez, Eileen. What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me that Ivy Stephens is exactly what she seems—a pretty blond massage therapist with eyes for my boy.”
His eyes narrowed. “Foley has a big mouth.”
Eileen gave a satisfied smile. “Yes, he does. And so does Cyn.”
Sam groaned. “Fine. What do you want to know? Ivy’s hot. She’s smaller than me, but most women are. She’s probably a little taller than you. Works out because of her job. She’s sweet and nice. Makes me laugh. And she took in a stray puppy I was looking after.” He told her all about seeing Ivy rescue Cookie, about her not freaking out at Ray’s or at Willie’s, but skipped over the sexual bits, ending with, “We have something between us. I think she likes me, and I know I like her.”
“Of course she likes you.” Eileen studied him over the brim of her cup. “Did you not just get hit on by at least two women in Sephora?”
“Yeah, but that’s different. That’s just for a quickie.” Only with Eileen and Foley could he be blunt yet still feel okay talking about personal stuff.
“Sam, you’re too handsome for your own good. And thickheaded too. You have more to offer than”—she lowered her voice—“just sex. Sure, those ladies liked the look of you, but it’s what’s inside that has them coming back. What’s different about Ivy? You liked Shaya before she left. And Megan before that.”
“Yeah, but they were like me. Kind of rough. We all wanted something simple. Ivy’s different. She’s kind.”
“You’re kind.” Eileen looked angry. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Easy, Mama Bear.” He held up his hands. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with me.” There’s so damn much wrong it’s not funny. “I’m just saying she’s not my usual type.”
Eileen sat back and took a bite of a raspberry Danish. “You’re saying she’s not a stripper, hooker, or party girl?”
He flushed. “Um, yeah.”
“Finally. Thank God. A good girl.” Eileen leaned close and poked him in the chest. “Don’t be fooled though, Sam. Good girls can be just as bitchy as worldly ones.”
“She’s not like that.”
“So what is she like?”
“Don’t you want to talk about your wedding instead?” She seemed a little too interested in Ivy for his peace of mind. Damn Foley and his flapping lips.
“I’d rather be shopping for centerpieces for my tables. Flowers and linens, maybe hitting some retailers. But since you look terrified at the prospect, I’d rather talk about Ivy.”
“Fine. Sure. Whatever you say.” A fate worse than death. He still didn’t know why Jacob wasn’t out escorting his future missus around town. But whatever. He took a huge sip of coffee. “You’d have to meet her to get what I’m saying.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
He blinked. “Ah, well, we’ve only been seeing each other recently.” Like, last night, recently. “We just met, really.”
“How lovely for you both.” Eileen smiled. “Now cut the shit. What’s her deal? What makes her so special that I can see you fogging over just thinking about her?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
“Such a hard-ass,” he muttered, trying not to smile. “Ivy is…unique. She makes me feel good. I know she likes my looks.” Both a blessing and a curse he’d been born with. “But she treats me right. Like a person who matters.” He stroked his cheek, still feeling her hands cupping him. “She’s nice to me, and I feel like I’m good when I’m with her.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It sounds stupid. I just feel more with her.”
Eileen reached across the table and clasped his hand. “Honey, I get you. I really do. And if this Ivy makes you feel good, then keep her for however long you feel good.”
How to tell Eileen he wanted to keep Ivy forever? As impossible as the idea was, because sure as shit Ivy would grow tired of him or he’d do something to put her off, he wished he could have her by his side always. Feeling accepted, liked.
He wasn’t holding out for love. Except for Eileen and Foley, he’d never had that. And he didn’t think he ever would. But saying it was like asking to be pitied. Bad enough the Sanderses both thought him some lame ass who would break down without them around to pick up the pieces of his sorry life.
Probably true, but it hurt to think himself the weak link in the chain.
“Good advice, thanks.”
“And when have you boys ever taken my advice?”
“We always listen to you.” He frowned. “Why? What did Foley do? Want me to pound him for you?”
She laughed and patted his hand. “That’s my boy. No, no. Foley is fine. But seeing Jacob’s joy with Rowena, his granddaughter, makes me want some of my own. I know she’ll call me ‘Grandma,’ but I want some little ones from my own boys.” She raised a brow. “I know it’s probably too soon, but what about you?”
He shook his head. “No way. Never having kids. I told you that before. I still mean it.” Not with his bad blood. No way in hell would he do that to a kid.
She sighed. “Sam, you are the best man I know, next to Foley and Jacob, of course. When you find the right girl, it’ll work out. Just remember this for my big I-told-you-so moment later.”
“Yeah?” He smirked, sensing the need to get out bigger guns. She was starting to make the backs of his eyes burn with all that best-man and lovey shit. “Well, how about this? Foley is trying to knock Cyn up. Thinks she might already be pregnant.”
Eileen gaped. “Get out.”
“Nope. Not that you heard that from me. He said she was being bitchier than usual.”
; “That’s not nice.” She frowned.
“Well, it was more like something about her being more hormonal than usual. But he’s hoping she’s pregnant, and according to him, she wants it too. They both want kids, and they plan on getting married soon. Like maybe in a couple months.”
“I’m so happy right now.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I just need to get you down the aisle, and we’re perfect.”
“Don’t you mean you down the aisle? Where the hell is Jacob in all this?” Sam tensed, worrying all over again that maybe Eileen hadn’t told him the whole truth. “Tell me. Did he do something? Is that why you’re so emotional all the time? And why we never see you guys together anymore? Want me to kick his ass?”
* * *
Eileen bit back a sigh. Sam’s answer to everything seemed to be an ass kicking. “No, no. He’s fine. And handsome and charming. And apparently smart, because he’s been leaving me to do this wedding any way I see fit.”
“Yeah?”
She smiled at Sam’s distrust. Though he and Foley both claimed to like Jacob, they were protective. Always had been. Foley had been the man of the house after his father passed when he was just four. Then, at eleven, he’d brought Sam home. A wounded, scrappy little brat who’d melted her heart with one look into his soulful eyes.
She’d done her best to keep him, but Sam’s bitch of a mother had a stranglehold on her boy. Anytime Sam found happiness, Louise did her best to yank him back, tethering him to an emotionally abusive woman with her own mental issues. Eileen had her theories on why Louise was the way she was, but she’d been too worried about Sam to share them. And as he’d aged, that concern had never truly faded.
Foley confided in her that whenever Louise beckoned, Sam would go. And he’d come back a shell of himself for days, sometimes weeks, on end. Eileen hoped that Sam had become more confident and sure of himself after having been part of the Sanders family for so long. But she still caught remnants of the hurt, scared little boy inside the giant of a man.
All the ink and muscle and toughness couldn’t hide the fact that Sam never quite thought of himself as loveable. If this Ivy woman could put stars in his eyes, she was all for it. Especially since both Cyn and Foley had confided they liked her.
Yet everyone worried that if things with Ivy, which were so new to begin with, went south, Sam might turn self-destructive. Those fights he used to get into as a boy had turned into something illegal he did as a man. Sam and Foley didn’t think she knew about those. But Eileen had eyes, not to mention ears. She’d seen the bruises, and she’d heard from her friend Liam Webster that her boy Sam had better get his head out of his ass.
It appeared he might be doing that with Ivy. She could only hope.
“Sam, bring Ivy to dinner next week. Wednesday night.”
“On the island?”
She nodded. She’d moved in with Jacob in his Bainbridge Island residence, and she’d never been happier. Well, once the wedding was over, she’d be tickled pink. But until then, she stressed over caterers and flowers and centerpieces.
“Uh, I guess.”
“Don’t guess,” she snapped, stuck on how much she still had to do before her big day…in another two months! “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t do this.”
“Eileen?” He looked worried.
“I can’t sit here and pretend I don’t have shit to do. I don’t care how much it hurts. We’re going to Lela’s and checking out her linens. I reserved them a while ago, but I need to make sure.”
He groaned and stuffed half a sweet roll into his mouth.
“Good boy. Chew it all up. Get sugared and caffeinated, because it’s going to be a long day. Oh, and don’t forget, you have to wear a suit to the wedding. Foley too, so don’t think I’m singling you out. But I heard you have to wear one to Del’s wedding coming up. Just think. One suit for two weddings.” She smiled. “Would you like us to shop for you when we’re done with the tables?”
“Hell no. I’ll do it on my own.”
“Sure thing, honey. Now grab my bags and your coffee, and prepare to get crazy.”
“With tablecloths and wedding shit? Right.”
“Onward, soldier. Move that ass.” Eileen grinned. Time to show her boy what a mother could really do when she had her mind set. “And don’t forget that invitation for Ivy. I’m not kidding.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Like a good boy, he grabbed her bags, helped her to her feet, then followed her for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, bitching all the way.
* * *
“You don’t know, Ivy. It was like I was in hell,” Sam whined as he stood next to her in her tiny kitchen, drinking a beer.
He saw her trying to hide a grin and continued to complain.
“I mean, there are a million freakin’ shades of blue. Cobalt, aqua, navy, cyan. Oh, and then there’s denim, azure, indigo. And don’t get me started on the color wheel. Christ.” He held the bottle to his forehead. “I’m getting a migraine just remembering the smell of stale fabric and cheap perfume—not Eileen, but that old biddy Lela, being all pushy about Eileen’s choices.”
Ivy pressed her lips together and nodded.
He sighed. “Go ahead. You know you want to laugh.”
“I really do.”
“Yeah? Well, I don’t think you’ll find it so funny when you’re helping me find a suit for the weddings coming up. I’ve been ordered to dress up. Apparently a T-shirt that looks like a tux isn’t considered fancy enough.”
She laughed. “God no. I’m happy to go shopping with you. I don’t mind getting clothes.”
“And here I thought we had a lot in common.” Watching her work, the graceful way her hands held a knife, pet a dog, or handed him a beer, was like seeing poetry in motion.
“We do,” she agreed. “Neither of us tolerates BS.”
“You mean bullshit?” he said for effect, getting hard at the sight of her pursed lips. “Isn’t that what you mean, Miss Priss?”
“Yes, it is.” She frowned at him. “Potty mouth.”
He grinned. Around Ivy, he had a lot to smile about. “Oh, and we’re invited to dinner Wednesday night on Bainbridge Island. Eileen insisted. Can you make it?”
She paused slicing potatoes. Instead of baking them whole, she was doing something sophisticated with slicing and spicing them up. His mouth watered. Nothing like a home-cooked meal prepared by his own hot chick to make a guy’s day.
“Um, I guess so.” She swallowed. “You want me to meet your mom already? Isn’t that a little soon?” she teased, but he caught a hint of nerves he totally understood.
“First off, Eileen’s not my biological mom. I mean, she’s been like a mom, and I love her, but she’s Foley’s mom.”
“What about yours?” she asked.
He didn’t want to think about Louise. Not now, when he was happy. “Ah, we don’t get along much.” She hated him, he loved her in spite of himself, and he knew nothing he ever did for her would be good enough. “Eileen,” he said to dispel the ghosts of a past that continued to haunt him, “has looked after my sorry butt since the sixth grade. I never lived with her full-time or anything. But she helped with a lot of stuff I couldn’t get at home.”
Hopefully Ivy would let that be enough of an explanation. Because even thinking about the shit that was his early life took him down a very dark memory lane.
“And anyway, she loves cooking for me and Foley and our friends. Guy or girl, she’s just happy we’re not in jail and being social. Like, social without beating people up, social.” Hmm. Maybe he’d overshared because Ivy just stared at him.
Then she slowly nodded. “You haven’t beaten me up yet, so I guess you’re making progress.”
He flushed. “Shit. I would never… I mean, I don’t hit girls. And I’d never ever hurt you. Anyone who even thinks of giving you a rough time has to
go through me.”
She gave a small smile. “Good to know. Eileen sounds wonderful. Dinner will be fine. My Thursday is lighter than I was expecting anyway, because I checked my schedule yesterday. I have a lot of clients on Friday though, so it all balances out.” She finished with the potatoes, then put them in the oven. As she started on the salad, she asked, “What’s she like?”
“Eileen? She’s a trip. Beautiful woman, inside and out. Looks more like Foley’s older sister than mother. Tell her that. She’ll love you forever.”
Ivy grinned.
“She’s a sweetheart. Back before she met Jacob, she went through a couple of bozos who tried to take advantage of her. Foley and me, we put a stop to that.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Ivy said wryly.
“Hey, Foley never laid a hand on them.”
“That’s because you did, am I right?”
She read him so well. For all that they’d pretty much recently met, he knew her too. Weird and not a little troubling. He didn’t mind her knowing surface details, but it would kill him if she ever learned the bad stuff, the Louise stuff.
“You’re a little right.” He shrugged. “Hey, when do I put the meat in?”
“You do nothing.” She nudged him toward her dining table, now a full oval because she’d flipped the leaves up. “Your job is to drink beer and talk to me.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.” She darted a look at him, then turned back to the lettuce. She wore jeans and a soft-looking sweatshirt that slid off her shoulder time and again. Her hair had been tied up in a loose ponytail, wisps of bangs and a few strays kissing her face and neck, the way he wanted to.
Barking took his attention for a second, and he stared down at Cookie, gripping a pig ear in his mouth. “You’re welcome,” he said to the dog, who wagged his tail so hard Sam feared the dog’s butt would fall off. “I think he likes it.”
“You’re spoiling him.” But she smiled. “You’ll make a good dad someday, but you’re going to have to watch it or your kids will be monsters.”
She had the right of it in one. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So there’s something I think I need to say.”
