Just the Tipsy (Stryker Family)

Chapter 1

ONE

BIANCA

“You can always stay with us, sweetie. Anytime,” Mom says. Her smooth, alto voice fills my car and tugs at my heart. “You don’t have to go all the way over to some random town to get away.”

“I know.” I swallow and pause as the GPS tells me to pull off the interstate. “But I’ll be fine.”

Mom doesn’t speak for a few beats, letting my doubts creep in.

Yeah, fleeing from LA to Jepsen, Tennessee, a town I’ve never been to, is easily the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. But things just happened to click into place — I needed somewhere to lay low after my relationship very publicly exploded. My great aunt passed away and left her house in Jepsen (and dog) to me.

Have I seen this house? In a shitty picture, yeah. Have I ever had a dog (or even a pet in general)? No. But if I had to choose between staying in a random small town for a little while and staying in LA to be harassed by my shitty ex, his legion of fans, and the press, I’m choosing the former.

Even if I’m doing something like this completely on my own for the first time. Or anything big on my own, really.

“Why not go to New York to stay with Kaitlyn?” Mom asks. “You two are already working on the spa, aren’t you?”

“I know, but New York would probably be as bad as LA. Plus she and her husband just got married so I don’t want to crash,” I say. “And we can work on the spa over Zoom. It’s not a big deal.”

Mom lets out a sound of acknowledgment and I brace myself for her opinions on the spa my best friend and I are working on opening. It’ll finally get me out of modeling and being an “influencer”, but the fact that I turned down my parents’ help with it is killing them.

Thankfully her opinions don’t come. Not that she’d have anything new to say.

My GPS tells me to make another turn down a long, tree-lined road. At least it’s pretty.

“I’ll let you drive since it sounds like you’re getting close,” Mom says with a sigh. “But just let me know, okay? You can always move home since it’s nice and private. Our security system is top notch.”

“Thanks, Mom.” My dad wouldn’t allow anything less. Just because he’s behind the scenes and Mom’s music career peaked twenty years ago doesn’t mean he’s not protective. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She hangs up and I come to a stop at a light. I’m about ten minutes away from Jepsen and there’s nothing out here besides a bunch of trees and fields. A gas station with a Burger King attached doesn’t count. At least there’s a sign saying that there’s stuff out there in the direction I need to go and not just more trees.

I turn toward Jepsen, my stomach twisting in knots. My great aunt Gloria and I weren’t particularly close and I hadn’t seen her in person since I was a teenager, so I have no idea what to even expect. She lived there for years and years, but what if I’m the only Black (or even brown) person there now that she’s passed? I’ve never had to deal with that before.

I’ve been the only or one of the few Black people in a space a lot throughout my life — my private schools, an alarming number of runway shows — but there’s that and then there’s a whole town.

With two more turns, the landscape starts to change. A few subdivisions of cookie-cutter brick houses appear, then a few buildings. Finally, I reach downtown (or what I assume to be downtown) Jepsen. It’s cute, at least — not a suburban hellscape of strip malls like some of the spots I drove through on the way from the airport. The businesses and buildings have character, like they’ve been around for decades and lovingly kept up.

I turn again toward the veterinary clinic, my hands sweating all over again. All I know about the dog I also inherited is that her name is Sadie and she’s been living with the veterinarian since my great aunt passed. I like dogs and all, but how do you care for one?

The veterinary clinic is in a standalone building somewhat close to downtown. Another building is under construction next to it with a big sign that says Future Home of Jepsen Animal Shelter with the logos of several businesses that are sponsoring the shelter underneath. The most prominent one is for Stryker Liquors. I’m supposed to be meeting with a Dr. Stryker. He’s probably related, right? Who knows how these towns work.

I park in the small front lot and head inside.

Right when I step in, I’m greeted by a young Latina woman wearing scrubs, her hair tied back in a bouncy ponytail. A tiny bit of tension leaves my body — at least I’m not the only brown person in a fifty mile radius. Her name tag says Marisol with a cute dog sticker next to it.

“Hey there! How can I help you?” she asks with a big smile.

“I’m here to pick up a dog. Sadie? She’s been living with Dr. Stryker, but he knows I’m coming today,” I say.

Marisol’s vibe shifts to something more reserved. Shit. Either this Dr. Stryker is such an asshole that just bringing him up kills her mood or I accidentally bitchfaced her. Probably the latter, but I genuinely can’t help it. My face is just like this. It worked for modeling — I just had to have my normal expression going down the runway and people ate it up. But in a small Southern town I doubt it’ll win me any favors.

“Okay, great! I’ll let him know you’re here — he’s just finishing up with a patient now,” Marisol says. “You can have a seat.”

I sit down on one of the few chairs in the waiting room, across from an older woman with a black and white cat in a carrier, along with a small dog wearing a vest that says, “Shy and nervous! Do not pet!”

Honestly, same. Do they make the vest in human sizes, too?

A middle-aged man who looks to be waiting for his pet adjacent to where she’s sitting smiles at me, catching my attention. I blink back at him.

“Are you Miss Gloria’s niece?” the man asks.

“Yes?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Ah, I thought so.” His smile stays on his face. “I knew Dr. Stryker was caring for her dog after she passed away, but I didn’t realize her family had come into town. Sorry for your loss. She was a sweet lady. We always saw each other around town.”

“Thank you.”

This town must be really small for this guy to know all of that. The guilt of only keeping in touch with her on the phone around Christmas or her birthday starts creeping in again. This stranger probably knows more about her than I do.

“Her dog is a good dog too,” he says. “Very sweet. Used to be with Gloria all the time.”

I just nod. I forgot how to have small talk like a normal person. It’s not like people in LA or any of the other cities I regularly go to are itching to talk. In New York if a stranger started talking to me, I’d assume the worst.

But this man seems like he genuinely cares.

A few moments later, a warm, masculine laugh floats from the hallway, followed by the sound of a dog scrambling on the tile floor. Eventually a dog with a cone around his neck appears first, followed by the man who laughed.

As cute as the dog is, my eyes go straight to the man. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick muscular build. The kind of body that’s naturally strong-looking. His dark hair is slightly curly, falling into his forehead.

I’ve seen a lot of hot men, to the point where I’m desensitized to them. But this man is breaking right through and hitting a nerve I didn’t know was exposed.

The man who was sitting without a pet hops up and reaches out for the dog, who can’t decide whether to pay attention to the man or her owner.

“She did really well,” the man in scrubs says, squatting down to the dog’s level. The dog tries to lick his face, but she can’t reach with the cone.

He scratches the dog’s backside as he gives the owner instructions, getting whipped with her tail. If I were a dog, I’d be wary of a nurse or a vet, but this dog seems to love him. He gives the dog a few more pets before the dog and owner head out.

He finally notices me gawking at him and blinks, like he’s a little stunned. My whole body heats up like I’ve never made a man stop and stare at me. Then again, I usually don’t feel just as stunned looking back at the man, though.

“Hi, are you Bianca?” he asks. I nod and he gives me a polite smile, his cheeks flushed. “I’m Waylon — Dr. Stryker. I’m guessing you’re here for Sadie.”

“Yeah, hi.” I stand up. He’s a lot younger than I expected, maybe four or five years older than me.

“Great — let me run to the back and get her. Then we can chat about her care.”

He disappears, then soon rounds the corner with a small, fluffy dog in his hands and some papers under his arm.

“Let’s go in here,” he says, nodding to an empty exam room.

He lets me go first, then steps inside and shuts the door. Being in this small room with him makes me realize just how tall he is. I’m 5’11” and he’s several inches taller than me — maybe 6’4” or 6’5”.

I never feel self-conscious around men, unless they’re responsible for booking me for a show or a campaign, but now I’m way too aware of everything about myself. Especially my expression. If I plaster on a smile, I look like I want to commit murder. But if I default to my regular expression, he’ll probably think I hate him for no reason.

Usually I don’t particularly care if men like me, but with him, I do.

“This is Sadie,” Waylon says, putting her on the table.

Sadie is adorable — a Pomeranian, with cute little fox-like features. Her tawny brown fur is trimmed a little shorter than what I’ve seen Pomeranians with in the past.

My hands start to sweat for literally no reason. What is Sadie going to do? Bite me for fun? I put a finger out and she eagerly sniffs it, her tail wagging.

“Hi, Sadie,” I say, petting her between her ears. Waylon pets her too.

“She’s an easy dog,” he says. “Really friendly and likes other dogs. You can pretty much bring her wherever you want, as long as she’s allowed. I have all her stuff in my trunk.”

Sadie turns and I notice her butt is pretty hairless, stopping a little way up her tail and halfway down her legs. “Is she okay? She’s missing fur here.”

“Yep, she’s all good. It’s something that happens to a lot of Pomeranians — alopecia X. It doesn’t hurt her and it doesn’t itch,” he says.

“Oh, good,” I say, looking at his big hands. He handles her so gently. “It’s like she’s wearing those things. The cowboy pants?”

I can’t believe this man has me forgetting words just because he has sexy hands.

“Chaps,” he says with a smile.

“Right, yeah.” My face starts to heat up. He has a little dimple in his cheek that’s charming me way too much.

“We just have to take care of her skin to make sure it doesn’t get too dry and maintain her grooming. Which is where all this comes in.” He puts down the folder he had under his arm, which I now see is a bound booklet. “Here’s a guide to Sadie that I put together. It’s half stuff we give to new dog owners and half stuff I figured out about her in the time she lived with me.”

I thumb through it. The first few pages are print-outs and flyers about general dog care, stuff I really need to know. Then it gets into typed notes specific to Sadie — her favorite toys, her favorite people foods (within reason — she loves apples and peanut butter, apparently), where she likes to sleep (literally everywhere). There are even little notes in a neat, masculine hand, like he thought of extra things and just had to add them.

I’m almost annoyed. There’s no way a guy is this thoughtful and nice deep down. Unless this town is really a Hallmark movie come to life.

He’s probably married anyway, even though he’s not wearing a ring. He gives off married guy energy. Married to a wife who can bake without burning the house down, with a bunch of cute dogs and cats. They probably dress up in coordinated Christmas pajamas for an annual photo.

“This is really helpful, thanks,” I say, closing the booklet. “I don’t know much about raising a dog.”

“Yeah, the estate lawyer mentioned you hadn’t.” He gently rubs Sadie’s forehead with one finger and she closes her eyes. “But if you had to choose a dog for your first one, she’d be perfect. I’ve really enjoyed having her live with me for the past few weeks.”

Sadie looks up at me, sniffing my stomach and hands. Her tail hasn’t stopped wagging the whole time she’s been in here.

“And if you have any questions, we’re neighbors,” he adds. “My yard backs up to yours. And Sadie likes to play with my dog Duke and my brother’s dog, Murphy.”

“You live with your brother?” So he’s probably not married? Why do I even care? I need to pull myself together before I even think of dating. I have a whole bag filled with sex toys to keep me satisfied. I had to lean on them even when I was in a relationship, at least after my ex fell asleep.

“Yeah, it’s a duplex. I’m on one side and he lives on the other with his fiancé,” Waylon says.

I just nod. So, no wife. Okay, I really shouldn’t care if he’s married or not. Men are off the table. Even though my relationship with Kyler was fizzling before it imploded, I need some time to figure myself out.

Then again, what’s wrong with a little bit of fantasizing? I really don’t know why he’s doing it for me so much, but he’s a nice change from all the guys I’ve dated in the past.

“Let me walk you through a few specifics since there’s a lot there,” Waylon says.

He walks me through a few specifics of Sadie’s care, like her grooming and her walk schedule. Eventually he has to move on to the next patients and he brings me outside to put Sadie’s things in my car.

I parked next to his dark blue SUV, and he pops the trunk. It’s full of luggage, which he transfers into my car, squeezing it next to my bags.

“So that’s it.” He runs a hand through his hair. His biceps are ridiculously impressive, even with that small movement. “You can call or text me whenever you want. Or whenever you need, I mean.”

His cheeks flush pink, which makes stupid butterflies appear in my stomach. Can this man stop being so appealing?

“Sounds good.” I pet Sadie’s side.

“She’ll have her booster shots next month, by the way. The office will give you a call to schedule it,” he says.

“She’ll be there with her assless chaps on,” I say with a smile, gently squeezing his bicep as I pass by him to get to my car door.

Oh my god, what does that even mean? Even saying, “she’ll be there with bells on” would be goofy enough. But I had to go and make a stupid joke? Fucking kill me. I’ve always been the one pursued versus the pursuer, but I’m not this awful at flirting.

This man needs to be stopped. No man has ever scrambled my brain like this before just by having great biceps. Is he bench pressing St. Bernards in between patients? Then again, looking at him and his slightly dazed expression, I’ve gotten to him too.

“Chaps,” Waylon says.

“Sorry?”

“They’re just chaps.” Waylon’s face gets more and more pink, like he wishes he could stop talking. “Chaps are already assless by default since people usually wear them with pants. So it’s just chaps. I don’t…know why I felt the need to say that.”

“Oh.”

The silence between us could not be more deafening. It’s like we’re in one of those rooms that absorbs all sounds and drives the people inside insane because all they can hear is their blood coursing through their veins.

I think both of us want to die. Why can’t the universe have mercy and take a swipe at both of us?

“Uh, gotta go,” Waylon says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

I get Sadie buckled into her car harness and hop into the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath to try to diffuse the unpleasant embarrassment rushing through my veins. Once I pull it together, I put the address for the house into my GPS.

The house isn’t too far from town, which is nice, and all of the houses are somewhat far apart, but not so far that I’d feel too isolated. The front yard is huge and overgrown, with some out of control plants along the front porch of the house. All in all, it’s cuter than I thought it would be. I can see Waylon’s house behind it too, a bit closer than my neighbors on the left and right.

Once I park in the driveway, I hop out of the car and grab Sadie so we can go inside. Now that I’m up close, I can see that the house isn’t in great shape. The steps up to the front porch creak and a lot of planks are out of place. Inside isn’t much better — it’s clean, but it’s clear that it’s been a while since anyone’s fixed anything or updated it.

Well, shit. My first thought was to lay low here for a bit, then sell it, but how can I sell a house that’s falling apart?

I put Sadie down and sigh. I guess I have a lot of time to figure it out.