Zero to Sixty

by Marie Harte

  “What a bitch.” Ivy gripped his hand.

  He bit back a grin, a good thing because his lip still hurt. “Yeah. She’s got problems, as you know.”

  “Real problems.” Ivy paused. “I’m sorry about your dad. But, Sam, you’re not him.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t know.” She looked at him, through him. “That’s why you don’t want kids. Because of him.”

  “And her. She’s bad news too.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  He frowned.

  “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I’ve decided I’m awesome, even if I come from some messed-up people. But I’m not the one who ignored my daughter. I’m not the one who hurt a young girl. I’m not the one who abused her son for most of his life.”

  “Abused, huh? Good guess.”

  “Guess nothing. Foley and I talked.”

  “Oh.” He felt weird, exposed. Foley had seen a lot of his bruises over his growing years. “So, ah, are we still good?”

  She stared at him, shook her head, then laughed. She laughed a little too hard.

  “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

  “You are so fucked up.”

  Startled at her use of language, he didn’t know what to say.

  “Yes, we’re still a couple. I love you, even if you need therapy and a few ice packs. And a solid spanking to keep you from fighting again without taking care of yourself.”

  “Ivy, honey, I—”

  “No. It’s my turn to talk.” She poked him in the chest, and he felt for what Louise must have experienced last night. Ivy had bony fingers. “You and I are stuck together, buddy. First, we have a dog that needs us.” Cookie pawed at her leg, and she lifted him into her lap, where he stared smugly back at Sam. “Secondly, I am not going back to Willie’s alone unless you’re with me. The last time I was there, I think I interrupted her in a threesome.”

  “What?” Okay, that he had to hear. That’s once he got past being over-the-moon thrilled that Ivy wasn’t throwing him away.

  “Oh yeah. And somehow she and her threesome, and the pets, took down the Queen Anne robbers.”

  “Seriously?” He blinked.

  She nodded. “But we’re getting off track. Where was I?” She poked him again.

  “Ow.”

  “Third, we are going to date for a while. Then you’re going to propose. I’m going to accept, and we’re going to find a place to live that’s big enough for Cookie.”

  “Ah, sure. Yes. Right.”

  She made like she was going to poke him again, and he flinched. “I’m not done. We’re going to have kids.” She sniffed.

  “Hell. Don’t cry.”

  She wiped her eyes. “You’re going to be an amazing father, and I’m going to be an amazing mother. Because we are awesome people.”

  “Ivy—”

  “No. It’s one thing if you had a real concern about having children. Like, you had a genetic mutation that might make our baby suffer. Or you were a wife beater. Or a violent criminal.”

  “I’m violent, and I’m a criminal.”

  “You were a criminal. And you’ve never been violent with me.” She paused. “That’s why you’re always so careful with me, making sure I consent to everything—because of Louise and your father.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, it should apply to everyone.”

  “Yes, it should. And see? You’re looking out for me. Protecting me.” She leaned closer to kiss him on the cheek. Then a softer one on his lips. “I love you so much.”

  “Ivy.” Fuck. Now he was going to cry.

  “You put up with abuse your entire life, and you never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. Foley and I had a long talk about you and your mother. Not your mom. Eileen is your mom. Louise just gave birth to you.”

  He looked into her eyes, praying this was no dream. “Louise wasn’t always mean. She had moments where she cared. Not many, but they were there. I think the damage my father did and her having no one to help, that did her in.”

  “Yes. But that’s not an excuse for her abuse.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Why is it okay for you to protect everyone else but not yourself? If my parents had done to me what she did to you, would you be so quick to forgive?”

  “Hell no. I still think they’re a bag of dicks.”

  She bit her lip, but a smile peeked out anyway. “A whole bag?”

  “Yeah,” he growled.

  Cookie barked at him, then leaned forward, trying to lick Sam’s face.

  “So you think a kid of mine would be normal?” he asked, all casual, when inside, he felt like a bundle of nerves about to go off like a rocket.

  “Never normal.” She smiled. “Incredible, handsome, pretty, smart, big. All those.”

  “Definitely pretty,” he agreed, thinking any daughter of his would have to look like her mother. Another image of Ivy pregnant stoked his lust. Man, I am so pervy.

  Yet the thought of children didn’t make him think about his father for once. Instead, he fantasized about a life with Ivy. A forever where she and he and their dogs, cats, and everything under the sink lived and laughed together. And maybe, if they were lucky, they’d have their own sex swing they still used long into their golden years.

  “You really love me, huh?” he asked, needing to hear it again.

  “I do.” She smiled. “And someday you might tell me the same.”

  “God, woman. You know I love you. Why else would I let you badger me about kids when I’m clearly in pain? Besides that, I fucking cleaned for you. And I’ve had a few of those girlie magazines up there for years. Collectibles I tossed just for you.”

  “Ah, my own Mr. Messy loves me.”

  He frowned, wanting to come up with something as insulting. But all he could say was, “Yeah, yeah, and Miss Bony Finger loves me too.” He paused. “You win.”

  “Nope. We both win.” She lost her smile. “I come with baggage too, you know. No family, not much income, and a dog who doesn’t obey very well.”

  “Please. You just met my mother, and my father’s a dead rapist. I think I have you beat.”

  She blinked. “God, you really do.”

  He smiled, amazed not to feel awkward talking about his past. “Now, about all this pain I’m in.”

  She stroked his hair. “I’ve got some ibuprofen, and Foley brought over some pain meds Lara had. Do you—”

  “I was thinking of some oil I have upstairs in my nightstand. I mean, Ivy, I’m really hurting, and you’re the only one who can help me out.” He took her hand and put it over his hard cock. “Besides, I did fix your car. And you do owe me more hours in trade.”

  “I am not ‘loving you long time,’” she said, trying to keep a straight face, quoting one of his favorite sexual expressions.

  “But you could give me some medicinal massage,” he offered. “There’s this site on the web you can use as a tutorial. I think it’s called ‘fun-time massage for those with a big dick,’ or something like that. I looked it up after the first time I saw you.”

  She laughed, and he laughed with her. “Oh, Sam. What am I going to do with you?”

  They stared at each other, then said as one, “Love me long time?”

  And even Cookie added a howl or two.

  Chapter 20

  It was the wedding of the century. Or maybe the decade. Whatever. Lou was drinking and devising plans—some way to get that fine florist over to him without acting like he wanted her attention. He said hello and the woman turned in the opposite direction. What the hell?

  Sam wandered over, a drink in hand. Weeks after his notorious fight at Ray’s, most of his bruises had faded. Lou still lamented that he’d missed the big brawl with Goodie. According to Heller, a tough guy to impress,
Sam had been a thing of beauty taking down Stenson. And even after being stuck with Senior’s hunting knife, he’d raged like a demon trying to kill the old shithead. Battle-hungry Sam was a terrific guy to rage with. Focused, angry, mean. Going into a fight next to him guaranteed victory.

  Unfortunately, this new Sam was pretty observant. And he liked to talk. “Shot you down again, huh?”

  Lou groaned and tugged at his stupid tie. “I can’t believe how you’ve changed. Now you never shut the hell up. And quit smiling.”

  Sam chuckled. “Yeah. I’m so pretty now, with my smiles, that all your sisters want a piece.”

  “Touch ’em and die.”

  “In fact, just yesterday I was hanging with Rosie, and she proposed. Mostly to get her hands on Cookie, but I can tell she’s into me.”

  Lou smiled. “It’s all about the dog, my man.”

  He saw the florist—not just Del’s flower chick for the wedding, but also a guest—bobble her glass, then right it for a sip. Cyn said something to her, which made her chuckle. But this far away, he couldn’t hear too much. Too many laughing, dancing people in the way.

  “You are lame, Lou. Just… What happened to the guy who could get anybody?”

  “I don’t know.” Lou groaned. “Leave me alone. Go flirt with Ivy, would you?”

  “Sure thing.” Sam slapped him on the back, and Lou had to work not to show the asshole packed a wallop. “But hey, if you need help scoring, let me or Foley know.” Sam glanced to Foley, who lifted his glass at Lou and shook his head, mouthing, Pussy.

  “I hate all of you.”

  “I’m so happy right now.” Sam left, humming.

  Del walked by, stunning in her dress. To her credit, she hadn’t said one curse word through the ceremony and the celebration. She looked like a million bucks, her hair done in a classy twist, her makeup showing off the beauty they all knew was there. But now she shone with it, with love.

  “Mrs. McCauley, you look radiant.” Lou swung her in his arms, pleased to see her husband several feet away, frowning at him.

  Del laughed. “Put me down, you maniac.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Del. You deserve it.”

  Near them, Colin McCauley twirled with a girl near his age. He looked like he’d rather be getting his fingernails pulled out one by one.

  Del snickered. “See, we’re all getting tortured a little today. I can’t swear. Colin’s forced to dance with his second cousin twenty times removed or something, and Mike…”

  “What did you do to McCauley?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I showed him what’s under my dress, then told him we’re staying for the whole party.”

  “Oh, evil. Why is it we’re not married?”

  “Because she’s mine,” Mike growled from over Lou’s shoulder.

  Lou chuckled. “Easy, Tarzan, just pulling your chain. Here. You can have her back. Come on, Del. Stop clinging. You’re a married woman now,” he added in a louder voice. “With Mike right here? I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Mike rolled his eyes while Del scowled. “Your ass is mine next week at work, Cortez. Oh, it’s on.”

  “Easy, honey. You can beat him up later.” Mike whirled her away on a laugh.

  Lou moved back and bumped into J.T., Del’s brother.

  J.T. looked preoccupied. “Hey, man.”

  “What’s up?”

  J.T. frowned. “Is it just me, or do they only make pretty people in the McCauley family?” He nodded to one stacked, gorgeous blond talking to Mike’s mother.

  “Who’s she?”

  J.T. wrapped an arm around Lou’s shoulder and turned him away, facing Lara and Johnny dancing so in step, they appeared as if made for each other. “She’s one of the Donnigans, I think,” J.T. said. “Mike’s cousin or something. And not your problem. Look away, little man.”

  “Who you calling little?”

  “I’ve got a few inches on you.” J.T. grinned.

  Considering they stood maybe an inch apart in height, Lou knew what he was really talking about. “Real mature, J.T.”

  “I try. But hey, let’s talk flowers…and women…and you not getting the time of day.” The bastard left Lou in the middle of Lou’s insults about J.T’s mother’s mother’s mother.

  “Dick,” Lou muttered and set his drink down on a silver serving tray. In its reflection, he saw himself looking fine as hell in a suit and tie, his dark good looks raging. He’d already been hit on half a dozen times by other guys’ girlfriends, as well as by two cuties on the waitstaff. But the one submissive little bombshell he had his eye on kept avoiding him. Time to up his game.

  Again, I ask, what the hell kind of woman can walk away from all this?

  Get ready for another Body Shop Bad Boy!

  Collision Course

  Available October 2017!

  And, read on for a peek at the first book in

  Marie Harte’s The Donnigans series, A Sure Thing!

  About the Author

  Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Marie Harte is a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking in Central Oregon, biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after. Visit marieharte.com and fall in love.

  Here’s a taste of Lou’s story, book four in the Body Shop Bad Boys series

  “Two dozen red roses and ‘I’m sorry I screwed your sister’?” Josephine Reeves stared over the counter at the thirtysomething guy who badly needed a haircut, thinking she must have misheard him.

  “Yeah, that doesn’t sound so good.” He sighed, combed back his trendy bangs with his fingers, and frowned. “I was going to go with ‘Sorry I fucked your sister,’ but that’s a little crude. Probably just ‘I slept with your sister,’ right? That’s better.”

  She blinked, wondering at his level of stupidity. “Um, well, how about ending at just ‘I’m sorry’?”

  He considered that and nodded. “Hey, yeah. That’ll work. Do I need to sign the card? Maybe you could write that for me. My handwriting sucks.”

  So does your ability to be in a committed relationship. Joey shrugged. “It’s your call. But if it was me, I’d prefer a note from the person who’s sorry, not from the woman selling him flowers.”

  Her customer brightened and chose a note card from the stack on the counter. “Good call. Hey, add another dozen while you’re at it. She loves roses.”

  Joey tallied up the order while he signed, then took the handwritten card. The guy really did have crappy handwriting. After he paid and left, she tucked the note into the folder of orders due to go out by two, in another two hours. For a Monday, the day had gone as expected and then some. Not chock-full of customers, but not empty either. Late spring in Seattle had most people out and about working on their gardens, not inside shopping for hothouse blooms.

  Still, enough anniversaries, birthdays, and relationship disasters had brought a consistent swell of customers into S&J Floral to make Stef, her boss, more than happy.

  Joey hummed as she organized the orders, thrilled that she’d gotten the hoped-for promotion to manager that morning. She’d worked her butt off for it, and that diligence had paid off. She wanted to sing and dance, proclaim her triumph to the masses.

  Except it was just her, Tonya in the back putting together floral arrangements, and a half dozen shoppers perusing the store. It had been Joey’s idea to add some upscale gifts to their merchandise selection. Teddy bears, pretty glass ornaments, and knickknacks went hand in hand with flowers. S&J had seen a boost in revenue since last December, when they’d implemented the big change.

  Thank God it had worked. Joey appreciated Stef taking a risk by believing in her. And now…a promotion to manager and a $50K salary! With this money, she and Brandon could
finally move out of her parents’ place and start fresh, away from the history of mistakes her family never let her forget. She couldn’t wait to tell her best friend, Becky, about it.

  “Well, hello there.”

  She glanced up from the counter and froze.

  “You work here?” A large grin creased a face she’d tried hard to forget.

  The man who’d been haunting her sleep, who’d dogged her through a wedding and sizzled her already frazzled nerves, looked even better in the hard light of day.

  “H-hello.” She coughed, trying to hide the fact that she stuttered. When she could breathe without gasping, she said, “Sorry. What can I do for you today?”

  The look he shot her had her ovaries doing somersaults and her brain shutting clean off.

  The first time she’d seen him had been on a visit to her first wedding client, and she’d been floored. The guys who worked at Webster’s Garage all looked larger than life, covered in tattoos, muscles, and that indefinable sense of danger they wore like a second skin. But it had been this guy, the tall Latin hunk with dark-brown eyes and lips made for kissing, who had snared her.

  He had a way of raising one brow in question or command that turned her entire body into his personal cheering section.

  “…for some flowers. I dunno. Something that looks like I put thought into it?”

  Focus, Joey. Be professional. This isn’t personal. Don’t get all goofy on the man. “Ah, budget?”

  He sighed. “For Stella, it has to be decent. Girl is like a human calculator when it comes to anything with value. If I skimp, she’ll know,” he said, still grinning. He took the binder she slid to him and leafed through the floral selections. “I’m Lou Cortez, by the way.”

  “I remember.” He’d only introduced himself once, months ago, in the garage while she’d been going over flower choices with his boss. But Joey had never forgotten those broad shoulders, chiseled chin, or bright-white smile. Talk about too handsome for her own good.

  She’d kept her distance, or at least tried to. She’d been invited to the wedding, having become friends with the bride. Of course, all the woman’s employees had been invited as well. Joey had done her best to steer clear of the man women seemed to drool over. He was trouble she didn’t need.