Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance (21 page)

“I’m even less that guy now than I was back in college,” I confess. “But I don’t think we’ll have a problem convincing them that we’re serious.”

“And why’s that?” She goes still, motionless, even as her gaze sharpens to a knifepoint. That gaze is dangerous, capable of severing my connection to Cat with a single slice, and my only defense against it is the truth.

“I like you. I’ve always liked you.” I pause, summoning the guts to put it all out there and risk hearing her tell me the Cat ship has sailed all over again. “I used to think you were just one of those friends who stay with you even when they’re not in your life anymore. But now that I’m not a twenty-two-year-old idiot, I realize it’s more than that. It was always more than that.”

“More?” she asks softly.

“More than friends,” I say. “And I’d like to find out how much more. How about you?”

I thought her gaze was sharp before, but now it narrows to a surgical blade. I swear I can feel that look probing at my insides, looking for rotten places in my story, but she doesn’t pull away from our embrace.

“If it’s too soon after all this stuff with your ex, I get it,” I say. “It won’t make my day, that’s for damned sure, but…” I swallow, and it’s not easy, because I’ve suddenly realized just how unhappy it would make me to lose the right to touch her like this. “But I’ll wait until you’re ready. If you think you might be interested, that is.”

She remains frozen for another long, gut-twisting moment during which my palms start to sweat a stupid amount, making me feel like I’m fifteen instead of thirty-fucking-two. I’m about to remove my sweaty mitts from her waist long enough to discreetly wipe them on my jeans when she says, “I’m interested. And it’s not too soon. Eleven years is long enough to wait, don’t you think?”

“I do.” My grin breaks across my face like an egg cracked up the middle, sending all my happiness spilling out in a messy, very uncool flood.

But Red has never given a shit about playing it cool. In fact, I’m pretty sure she likes me better like this.

She confirms that suspicion when she grins and says, “I’m so hungry I could eat your face without even bothering to shave the beard off first.”

I hug her closer. “I told you we needed something more than candy for breakfast.”

“You were right,” she says. “Take me somewhere pretty and feed me? Bonus points if there is greasy diner food involved.”

Pressing my lips together, I lift my gaze to the clear sky. “Pretty and greasy… That’s a tricky combo, but I think there’s a place in the town square that fits the bill. It’s got killer potato pancakes and matzo ball soup.”

“Perfect.”

And then, before I realize what’s happening, she’s pushed up onto her toes, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

Right away I can tell this kiss is different. It’s still combustible, but it’s also sweet, unguarded, and so addictive I can’t seem to stop kissing her back. So I don’t. I stand in the middle of a mall parking lot and make love to Red’s pretty mouth until I lose all awareness of space and time, until there is nothing but her lips, her taste, her heat, and the feeling of being exactly where I’m supposed to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

After lunch, we walk around the square, collecting more very important overnight items like deodorant, mouthwash, and light brown mascara Cat insists she needs to keep her eyelashes from disappearing. I tell her she looks perfect with or without eyelashes; she tells me I’m a beautiful liar and makes me wait outside the drugstore while she finishes buying girl things. I stand on the sidewalk and smile like an idiot because turns out I like being called a beautiful liar when Cat is the one doing the name-calling.

We finally head out of town around one-thirty and pull up to the winery in the hills outside Ithaca proper a little after two, rolling slowly down the gravel road to keep from getting dust on the vines growing on either side of the drive. I keep one eye on the road and one on Cat, not wanting to miss the moment she sees The View.

Even when I was sixteen, obsessed with dirt bike culture and pissed as hell at my dad for getting remarried, I was secretly glad when we moved in with Julie. I could never resist this view.

Almost every summer afternoon, I would take my drawing pad and pastels out into the fields at the edge of the vineyards, climb a tree, and spend hours sketching the curves of the hills down to Lake Cayuga, the sailboats on the water, and the sunset suffusing everything in a gauzy, dreamlike glow that reminded me of Italian frescos I’d seen in museums.

Before The View, I hadn’t been much of a landscape person, but those afternoons spent capturing slices of everyday magic helped set the course for the rest of my life.

At sixteen, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a painter, a professional BMX biker, or a cooper like every other Knight back to the days when Knights actually were knights, as well as barrel makers. But after a couple of summers in my tree, I realized that those hours spent alone, growing as an artist, were the ones that meant the most to me. Those were the times when I was most alive, most in tune with myself and satisfied with my place in the world.

After high school, I convinced my dad to let me pursue a degree in fine art, with the unspoken understanding that I would return to Ithaca when my four years were through and complete my training in the ancient art of molding oak into barrels. Instead, at the beginning of my sophomore year at Penn U, when I was really getting into the idea of tattooing as a career, I got a job working part time with a building crew who appreciated my way with wood. I saved my pennies, and by my senior year I had enough stored away to pay my way to Japan to apprentice with one of the tattoo world’s living legends.

To say my father was pissed would be the understatement of the past several millennia.

He was a devastating mixture of disappointed and enraged. We didn’t speak a word to each other for two years. He hated me for betraying him, I hated him for refusing to let me choose my own path, and we both hated apologizing too much to make any meaningful effort to mend the rift between us.

We might have stayed estranged forever—or at least a decade or two—if Julie hadn’t been diagnosed with breast cancer. Being faced with the possibility of losing someone we both loved is what it took for us to pull our heads out of our asses and get back to being family. I was there for him, he was there for Julie, and a new normal—a normal where we enjoy each other’s company without ever discussing coopering or tattooing—was established.

Which reminds me…

“Just FYI, my dad and I never talk about my work or his work,” I say, pulling to the side of the road to make room for a bus packed with drunk tourists. “It’s part of our truce agreement. So if talk turns to professional stuff, don’t be surprised if I don’t chime in.”

“Got it.” She nods, leaning farther out the window and inhaling deeply. “It smells so good here.”

“It does.” I study her blissed-out expression, not certain she’s understood me. “But I’m serious, Red. I don’t talk work with my father. Ever. It gets ugly if we even start.”

She nods again. “I get it. My dad and I never discussed religion, gays in the military, Ronald Reagan, my mother,
my father’s family on his dad’s side, sex, gun control, pot, feminine hygiene, or Elvis Presley. I’m very good at avoiding family trigger topics.”

“Why Elvis? What did he ever do?” I pull back onto the road, satisfied that she does indeed get me. I should never have doubted her.

“I had a crush on him when I was little,” she says, letting her fingers play through the wind as we drive. “I made Dad perform a wedding at sea between me and my teddy bear, who was playing the part of Elvis in Blue Hawaii. Dad had one of his friends film it and brought the video out every Christmas to torture me.” Her tone grows wistful. “It was actually one of our favorite times of the year, but I pretended to hate it because I was a teenager and that’s what teenagers do, you know.”

“I do,” I say. “I pretended to hate the winery when we first moved, but it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived. Hell, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll say.” Cat’s jaw drops as we turn the corner and the money shot comes into view. “Wow, Aidan, it’s gorgeous. It’s paradise with a side of Tuscan countryside.”

And even though I’ve seen it a hundred times before, the panorama of the rolling hills with the lake far below and the neat, ordered rows of vines spiraling away from the big red barn that serves as the tasting room, pings pleasure centers deep in my brain. But it isn’t the landscape that takes my breath away. It’s the redhead leaning forward with her hands on the dash to get a better look, an awed expression on her face that makes me want to arrange to surprise her with wonderful things at least once a week.

Her gaze is still glued to the scene unfolding before us as we wind down toward the tasting barn, and she reaches over to take my hand. “Thanks for bringing me here. I love it already.”

“My pleasure,” I say, threading my fingers through hers. “Hopefully my parents won’t change your mind.”

“No worries. I love parents and parents love me. I know how to put on my best manners. I was raised by a general, remember?”

“Just know that my stepmom talks all the time, and my dad hardly ever talks at all. It’s nothing personal. She never listens to what other people have to say, and Dad gives everyone the cold shoulder. That’s just business as usual.”

She tilts her head, staring at the entrance to the barn, where my father’s mounted fish trophies and my stepmom’s collection of antique road signs serve as eclectic decorations. “I’m not worried.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be,” I say, trying to hide the fact that I’m worried for her. The closer we get to my father, the more certain I am that he’ll be a cranky bastard to Cat and make me want to smash a fist into his grouchy face for the first time in years. I’ve come to terms with the grouch factor, but Cat has been through enough. She doesn’t deserve to be forced to humor a fractious old fart on top of it.

But there’s no turning back now. As we circle the barn and pull up into the driveway in front of the Mediterranean style villa overlooking the lake, Julie and Dad are already out in the flowerbeds, up to their elbows in dirt.

Julie stands immediately, waving an enthusiastic arm. She’s talking before Cat and I can shut off the engine.

“There you are!” She pulls off her gloves and tosses them onto the sun-warmed driveway, the skin around her blue eyes crinkling as she smiles. “Oh look at you! Aidan, I swear you’re even taller than I remember! And you must be Cat. Look at that hair! Oh my God, you’re like a pre-Raphaelite model from a painting. Isn’t she, Jim?”

My father, predictably, says nothing, but he does stand and step out of the flowerbed with a semi-civil nod in Cat’s direction. He’s wearing khaki pants and a button-up shirt because Jim Knight refuses to wear jeans, even to garden, because jeans are undignified.

“Just gorgeous, and such beautiful skin.” Julie floats toward Cat with her arms outstretched. “I’m so glad you’re here, love. You are so welcome and warmly received.” She pulls Cat in for a hug that lasts a little too long because Julie’s hugs always last too long, but thankfully Cat doesn’t seem to mind.

She returns the embrace with a smile. “Thank you so much for having me. I can’t wait to see where Aidan lived as an angsty teen.”

Julie chuckles, releasing Cat from her embrace, but still clinging to her hand. “Did you hear that, Jim?”

My dad grunts in response, which is actually a lot from him. But then he always enjoys it when other people give me shit.

“He
was
angsty, especially at first,” Julie whispers to Cat with a wink for me. “But sweet, too. There’s a heart of gold in that big furry body. I’ll tell you all the embarrassing stories over a glass of wine or three. You drink?”

“Yes,” Cat says, grinning. “The sooner the better. I can’t wait to hear embarrassing Aidan stories. I’ll tell you mine, and you can tell me yours.”

Julie laughs. “Oh good! Finally someone willing to tell on you, Aidan! I love this girl already.”

“Now, come on, Red,” I say, popping the trunk to grab our bags. “I’ve never told your embarrassing stories to anyone.”

“That’s because you’re a gentleman.” Cat detaches herself from my stepmother and crosses to claim the small roller suitcase Shane loaned her this morning. “And I really do like that about you.”

“Yeah, well, just remember how much dirt I have on you, Panties,” I murmur as we start toward the front door. “Push me too far and I might forget my manners.”

“I hope so,” she says for my ears only. “I like that side of you, too.”

The sexy, suggestive lilt in her voice would usually have been enough to get my blood pumping faster, but at that moment we draw even with my old man, who falls in beside us.

“How’s the garden?” I ask, nodding toward the decorative cabbages, one of the many weird things my father collects. “Cabbages are looking good.”

He grunts again. “Good enough.”

“Are those your fish mounted above the door to the barn?” Cat asks pleasantly, kindly ignoring the fact that my father is a terrible host and hasn’t said so much as hello to her. Lucky for him, Julie handles everything to do with the guest cottages on the other side of the property, or the business would have failed years ago. “That tiger fish is impressive. I pulled a three-footer out of Lake Tanganyika on a fish safari with my dad, but I’ve never seen one that big.”