Chapter 9
9
MARCUS
I step outside into the night air, Buddy hot on my heels. Ever since Ryan stormed off, she’s all I can think about.
That kiss .
Yeah, I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve replayed it over and over and still haven’t figured out what came over me. Other than I was completely stunned by a mixture of her beauty and the fire that danced in her eyes. It didn’t even matter she was basically telling me off. I found her refreshing and not like any woman I’ve ever met.
That’s why I pulled back and told her to leave, because if I didn’t, the next step was to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bed. That’s what I wanted to do, not send her away, but I couldn’t let my body make any decisions. I needed to use my big brain, not the smaller one in my pants that was ready to get her naked.
Everything about Ryan was wrong. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s very right. But not for me. I prefer simple women who don’t spend hours upon hours in front of a mirror. One who wants to spend time outside, like me. Feeling the wind in her hair as we take the boat for a ride, the heat of the flames as we cook food by the firepit, or getting splattered with mud as we tear down one of the old trails throughout my property.
Ryan doesn’t fit that picture.
She’s more of a fancy iced coffee in an artsy café type. Her purse probably costs more than half my wardrobe, and as hard as I try, I just can’t picture her laughing when getting covered in mud.
Buddy trots down the stairs and starts sniffing around the yard, searching for the perfect spot to do his business. I’ve let him out a few times without the leash, and he does well. He usually stays close to the house, checking every few minutes to make sure I’m still there. If he wanders too far, I call, and he comes running quickly.
I recall what Ryan said about her parents. Her dad is some big shot producer? Maybe that’s why the name sounded familiar. I just assumed it was someone who lived here years ago, but perhaps the reason was simply because he’s well-known. Not that I watch a lot of movies, but that doesn’t mean anything. Just because I don’t go to the theater or subscribe to movie channels doesn’t mean I don’t know who Matt Damon or Julia Roberts is.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I tap on the internet browser and do something I rarely do. I type in someone’s name and search.
Ryan Marcotte.
Instantly, the screen is filled with information. News articles, photos, and more all appear. I scroll down a bit, tapping on one of the photographs. The image of Ryan fills the screen, her smiling face, while gorgeous, looking…well, fake. Her smile is tight and doesn’t reach her chocolate eyes. She looks completely put together and beautiful, yet so different from the woman I saw earlier with a ball cap on her head.
I scroll down, encountering more and more photos, but it’s not the ones of Ryan looking proper and perfect that grab my attention. It’s the photographs of her appearing a bit…wild. A party girl, with a drink held high above her head and a guy grinding up on her ass. This persona is…shocking to say the least, because she looks nothing like the Ryan I’ve met.
There are also a few pictures of her and a guy. He’s obviously famous, with his blinding white teeth and his perfectly styled hair. His tuxedo on the red carpet looks like it costs more than I make in a month.
Buddy barks, pulling my attention from my phone. “Buddy, come here,” I holler into the night, slipping the device back into my pocket.
The dog comes running, his tail wagging and his tongue dangling.
“What’d ya find? Was there a critter out there?” I ask, crouching into the dirt.
Buddy comes and stands beside me, waiting for his pets, which I happily give. I listen, only hearing the breeze rustle the trees. I stand up, walking over toward my garage. Buddy remains right by my side with each step and waits while I take another listen. When I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary, I move to the path that leads to the other cabin. A part of me wants to walk the trail, to make sure everything is all right with Ryan, but unless she summons me, there’s no reason for it.
She’s my renter for thirty days.
Nothing more.
But then I remember that kiss once more, and all I can think about is how much I’d like to cross that line with her. March over to her place, cup her jaw with my hands, and plunder her mouth. I’m not normally an aggressive man, but with Ryan, the desire is strong. It’s a river running deep inside me, with raging waves and an undertow threatening to pull me under.
Buddy sniffs the air and whimpers. He takes a step forward, like he’s about to track whatever scent he’s on, but fortunately, he doesn’t take off. “No, Buddy. Stay.”
He drops his ass in the dirt, sitting beside me and watching. When nothing shows itself, I reach down and pet his soft head. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s go eat and have a bath.”
When the vet at the chain store checked him over, she was surprised to only find burrs in his fur and no fleas. I bought whatever shampoo she recommended and am planning to give him his first real bath in my guest bathroom, since it’s the one with the tub. Together, we head inside, and even when I’m tasked with bathing the dog, keeping him off the furniture while he dries, and giving him an extra treat for being such a good boy through it all, I can’t help but think about Ryan.
About the kiss.
Even when I go to bed, I lie here with her on my mind. I want to know more about her. I want to click every single one of those links and see more photos, but I don’t. Why? Hell if I know. I’ve got the resolve of steel, apparently, because as much as I want to look, I don’t. Half that shit’s probably not true anyway, right?
There’s only one way to find out what I want to know, and that’s from the source herself. Maybe if I get to know her more, the infatuation I suddenly have for her mouth will fade. Perhaps I won’t like her at all. Seems to me the only way to get past Ryan is to go through her, figuratively speaking.
So that’s what I’ll do. Instead of avoiding her, I’ll let my curiosity get the better of me. This way, I’ll prove to myself we’re too different, too opposite to ever be anything more than renter/landlord. The kiss will mean nothing and any desire for more will evaporate like rain. Why? Because who wants to kiss a woman they can’t stand? And something tells me the canyon will become apparent between Ryan and me, our differences too big and too deep.
It’s a long, sleepless night, filled with images of her and replays of the kiss.
A kiss I long to repeat.
“What do you say we take the boat out for a spin today?” I ask Buddy after he comes in from doing his morning business. His tail wags, and he seems eager, even though he probably has no clue what I’m saying.
It’ll be the first big run for my Jon boat this year, though I’ve had it in the shop and already completed a tune-up. I might even indulge myself on this Memorial Day and grab a fishing pole from the shed and wet a line. It’s one of my favorite ways to unwind, and unfortunately, I just don’t get to do it as often as I’d like.
I head to the kitchen and pack a cooler. I make a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, wash a bundle of grapes and put them in a baggie, and add some bottles of water and chips. I make sure to grab a bowl so Buddy has fresh water and start making a pile by the front door. The moment he spots his leash, Buddy gets excited and starts spinning circles. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll go for a little walk before we get on the boat.” How good the dog is will determine how long we stay out. If he’s hyper and all over the place, then we’ll cut the trip short. It might take a few trips out in the boat before he settles into the activity. Though, if he’s anything like he is in the truck, then we should be fine.
Time will tell.
I step outside, Buddy right behind me, and make my way to the garage. Since my truck is still at the shop and I have the tow here, I’m gonna have to take Grandpa’s old one. I love driving this thing, but I don’t get it out as much as I should. Mostly because it’s hard not to see him behind the wheel anymore.
Pulling open the big roll door on the side of the garage, I step back and take in the 1959 Chevy Apache truck. This beautiful candy apple red, short-bed truck, with step sides and an upgraded 283 V8 engine, was purchased by my grandpa straight off the lot, and was his until the day he died. We’d take this truck out for a cruise on Sundays, grab lunch at the diner, and make sure she stretched her legs for a bit.
Those are the memories I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
“What do you think, Buddy? Wanna take Betsy out for a ride?”
He barks, as if to tell me he’s all in for a ride in Grandpa’s old truck.
“All right, let’s get it loaded up, okay?”
Buddy stays close by but also checks out the yard as I load the cooler and fishing stuff into the bed. When it’s ready, I make my way to my boat behind the garage. Pulling off the cover, I grab a full can of gas and set it inside the boat, as well as verifying I have all my emergency supplies. When it appears I’m set, I turn my attention to my eager pup. “Ready to hit the road?”
His tongue dangles and his ears perk up.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go close up the house,” I say.
Just as we round the corner from the back of the garage, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Buddy notices too and starts barking. I’m unable to say a word before he takes off toward the intruder. “Buddy, stop!” I holler just as someone emerges through the clearing off to the side.
Ryan is there and instantly drops to the ground to welcome Buddy. He eagerly kisses her cheek—causing a bubble of jealousy to pop in my gut—his little tail wagging harder than it ever has. He’s practically dancing, happy to see the woman renting the cabin.
She glances up as I slowly approach. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Something tightens in my chest as I take in her casual, yet completely put together appearance. Or maybe it’s the fact she’s wearing the other ball cap I gave her, looking like she fell out of one of my wet dreams.
“Sorry to just drop in on you like this. I was exploring and followed the trail.” Her hand continues to run over Buddy’s back, showering him with lots of attention.
“It’s fine. There’re several trails around the property. I own twenty acres.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow, that’s a lot.”
I nod, shoving my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach for her.
“So, what are you two up to today?” she asks, standing up and waiting.
“Taking the boat out for a spin.”
Her chocolate eyes brighten. “A boat? You have a boat?”
“Sure do, Princess.”
“Can I go?” she asks eagerly.
Her question stumps me, because for the life of me, I just can’t see Ryan on a boat. “Really?”
“Yes, I love boats.” She practically vibrating from excitement.
“Uhh,” I reply, lifting my own ball cap and running a single hand through my hair. “I guess.”
“Yay!” She claps. “I’ll run and get ready,” she insists, turning and practically sprinting back the way she came.
Buddy jumps, ready to follow, but I stop him. “No, Buddy, let her go. We need to make sure we’re set.”
Hesitantly, he follows me back to the house, but I don’t miss the way he checks over his shoulder for her either. My dog has it bad for the woman.
Take a number, pal.
I go inside, trying to decide if I want to change out of jeans and into a pair of shorts. I rarely wear them, but if I’m going to unwind on the boat, I admit a pair of shorts and athletic shoes are a lot more relaxing, but it takes a lot of heat for me to step out of my comfort zone and May isn’t it yet, so I’ll stick to my boots and jeans for today.
I do change my shirt, however. I don’t know why, but I grab a fresh T-shirt and run my deodorant through my pits once more. I even throw a cleaner hat on my head, changing from the stained-up, dirty one I had on.
I refuse to dissect why.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” I tell Buddy, who’s waiting for me at the front door. We step outside, and I add, “Go use the potty.”
Never in my thirty-seven years did I think I would be a man who’d regularly use the term potty , but here we are.
Buddy trots off the porch and does his business, meeting me at the cab of Grandpa’s truck. The moment I open the door, he jumps inside and gets settled in the passenger seat. Climbing in, I shut the door and fire up the engine, reveling in the sound she makes when she starts to purr.
“God, I love this truck.”
I drive from the garage and back to the hitch of the boat trailer. Grandpa made sure he could tow a small trailer with this baby, especially his Jon boat. Once the truck is in position, I climb out and hitch the trailer to the truck. Just as I’m raising the jack, I hear someone approach.
“Wait, we’re taking that?”
I glance at Ryan and smile. “What were you expecting, a yacht?”
She bristles and hides her eyes. Yep, that’s exactly what she was expecting.
“That’s not a boat. It’s a postage stamp,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest.
I stand up and glance at the fifteen-foot, flat-bottom Jon boat that has served its purpose since I’ve owned it. It’s not huge, but I don’t need big. I’m a simple man. As long as it runs well and holds me, my fish, and my cooler, that’s all I’ve ever needed.
Lifting my shoulders, I say, “Well, I guess you don’t have to go then.”
She steps forward, glancing inside the boat. “Where do I sit?”
Reaching in, I slap my hand down on the aluminum seat. “Right here.”
Ryan sighs and shifts her beach bag from one shoulder to the next. When she meets my gaze, she asks, “Is it safe?”
“Princess, I’d never take you out on something that I wasn’t one-hundred-percent confident in its ability to not only float but also make it back to shore. This ol’ girl is solid,” I insist, tapping my hand on her bow.
She inhales deeply and slowly lets it out, her eyes raking over the boat. “Okay, let’s do it.”
She walks around to the passenger side and opens the door, instantly greeted by Buddy. “Look at you,” she sings, scratching his ear before setting her bag on the floorboard and climbing into the cab.
I double-check to make sure everything is connected and slide into the truck. “Might wanna roll down the window. No air-conditioning,” I tell her, putting the truck in first and slowly pulling away.
“This truck is…cool. I’ve never ridden in one this old. Actually, before Friday, I don’t think I’ve ever ridden in a truck at all. SUVs, yes, but never a pickup truck,” she says, running her hand over the cracked dash.
“It belonged to my grandpa,” As I drive to the dock used by the locals, I tell her the story about my grandpa purchasing it brand new in 1959, and how it was the only truck he kept until the day he passed. “He’s the one who taught me how to work on anything with a motor. I used to sit in his shop and hand him tools, soaking up anything and everything he shared with me.”
I glance over and catch her watching me. “That’s pretty cool.”
I nod in reply, keeping my eyes on the road and not her legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her gently stroking Buddy’s fur. His tongue is hanging out as he sits in the middle of the bench seat, enjoying the ride.
By the time we get to the smaller dock known to the locals, they’re both sitting up a little taller in the seat. I carefully back the trailer into the water and engage the parking brake on the truck. Glancing over, I can’t help but note the way the breeze gently blows the long hair pulled through the back of her hat. “Ready?”
She smiles. That one gesture reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart. Not to mention what it’s doing in the front of my pants. Whoever thought a grin could do so much to a simple guy like me?
“Let’s do it.”