Back in her car, she pumped the air-conditioning as high as it would go and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Her flushed, sweaty reflection stared back, bitter eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A snippet from one of her favorite daydreams flashed through her mind. Roger, running behind a downy-haired Roger III astride a little red bicycle, cheering enthusiastically as the boy pedaled with all his might and slipped free of his father’s steadying hands for a first solo ride down the sidewalk.
She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in the picture somewhere, but the image kept fading. She didn’t subscribe to fate or destiny, but nonetheless wondered if her inability to visualize herself in her ideal future meant she wasn’t destined to be part of such an idyllic family scene. Sure, Roger was the man of her dreams, but if she didn’t get her lessons back on schedule, he’d be scooped up by some naturally sexy woman before she mastered chapter 3, much less the whole array of skills necessary to turn her into the woman of his dreams.
Cool air from the vent blasted her face hard enough to blow her hair off her forehead, revealing a raised red bump near her hairline. Terrific. A memento from the beer bottle.
No good deed went unpunished.
She finger-combed her hair so a frizzy wave covered the ugly spot. Then she backed out of her father’s driveway, turned onto the main road, and considered her meager options for Saturday night. Pay bills, catch up on her medical journals, or maybe indulge in her secret guilty pleasure—snuggling in with her DVR and watching the cute host of the home improvement show she recorded religiously? All her choices sounded pathetic. What she really wanted was a drink, but imbibing alone at home in front of the TV seemed a little too much like Frank for comfort.
Just then, the barrel-shaped sign for Rawley’s Pub came into view, and before her brain completely vetted the impulse, she pulled into the parking lot.
Chapter Eight
Tyler followed Junior into Rawley’s on Saturday night, ready to faithfully execute his role as wingman. Hopefully in the process, he’d get his brain off Ellie. She’d been taking up headspace ever since she’d unleashed her proposition on him. Not surprising. When an intelligent, attractive woman bartered with him for sex education, turns out he gave the arrangement some passing thought. But since yesterday evening, his thoughts weren’t just passing. They took a very specific path—namely, how many days, hours, and minutes until their next session. A week seemed way too long to wait.
This disturbed him for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that in her mind, their relationship had a specific purpose and timeline. Although she hadn’t admitted it, he still felt sure she aimed to impress someone particular with her new tricks. Who, he couldn’t say, but it wasn’t him. She’d selected him as her teacher, not her target. Both the timeline, and the fact that she had her sights set on someone else, rubbed him wrong.
They shouldn’t have. A friggin’ fantasy had dropped right into his lap—weeks of wild, five-star sex with a woman who could make his cock harder than reinforced steel simply by flashing her dimples at him. Nothing could be more straightforward. Easy in, easy out. He liked easy. He liked straightforward. Why overcomplicate this scenario with pride or some stupid notion about taking himself, and his relationships, more seriously?
Before he could start chewing on the question again, Junior drew up short and slapped his shoulder.
“There she is. Think she’s still pissed at me?”
He followed Junior’s sight line to the center table where tall, stacked Lou Ann held court in a low-cut black tank top that showed off the double-Ds like nobody’s business. Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the sight of Junior. Melody sat to Lou Ann’s left, wearing a peach sundress, looking calm, cool, and bored out of her mind. Flame-haired Ginny occupied the chair on Lou Ann’s right, predatory eyes flashing with interest.
He glanced over at Junior, a tugboat of a guy in a Wildcats jersey and baggy jeans. “I’m not still pissed at you, and you shot me. Talking Lou Ann out of her mad ought to be simple in comparison.”
“Right. You’re right.” Junior inhaled and let the breath out slowly. “Okay. I’m going in. Cover me.”
“I’ll be in the corner.” Self-preservation had him hanging back at his end of the bar as Ginny slid off her chair and
headed toward him. Her tight, copper-colored cropped top and low-slung jeans advertised frighteningly toned abs. The little redhead was as pretty as a shiny new penny, but her reputation as a turbo gossip always turned him off—even more so now that he was trying to show Bluelick Savings and Loan what a responsible, respectable citizen he was. He turned to the bar and tried to make himself invisible, wondering for the billionth time what Ellie was up to tonight.
A throaty voice ambushed him. “Hey Tyler, what’s up?”
Resigned, he forced his shoulders to relax and turned back around. “Hey. Not much.”
The redhead’s grin turned conspiratorial and she tipped her head toward the table behind her. “Check it out. Melody’s back in circulation. You heard she and Roger called the engagement off, right?”
He nodded and signaled to Jeb Rawley behind the bar. “Yeah, I heard.”
Ginny reminded him of a cat—irresistibly drawn to those who showed the least interest. This maybe accounted for why, somewhere in his reply, she heard a request for details.
“But do you know why?” Before he could tell her he didn’t much care, she linked arms with him, snuggled in close and continued, “Roger and Melody were, shall we say, sexually incompatible.”
Damn him, but that caught his attention. For a girl born and bred to the prom queen crown, Melody was actually a nice person. Same went for star pitcher, star quarterback, star center Roger. Superficially, they made the perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American couple, but the way their engagement had dragged out over ten years? The cynical voice in his head had called the wedding off a long time ago. “You don’t say.”
Jeb paused in front of them long enough to deliver Tyler’s regular order—a beer. Ginny waited until Jeb walked away and then dished up more dirt.
“I do,” she nodded solemnly, but her eyes practically danced with glee at the prospect of revealing someone else’s intimate secrets. “All those years Roger spent away turned him into some kind of wild, insatiable sex maniac. Melody told me he’s into a bunch of stuff she flat-out refuses to do. So she wished him luck finding his perfect nymphomaniac soul mate and they went their separate ways—far as any two people can in a town this size.”
Okay, that smelled more like bullshit than pay dirt. Ginny’s story didn’t add up. No way had it taken Melody and Roger a decade to figure out they had incompatible sexual appetites.
What did possibly add up was why Ellie suddenly wanted a crash course in Wild Woman 101. Rumors spread like wildfire around Bluelick. Had she heard this one already, taken it as gospel, and decided to learn the skills she thought she needed to satisfy Roger?
The notion left a strange hollow feeling in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
Straightforward, he reminded himself, and took a drink. Uncomplicated. Why make things messy? Speaking of messy…he checked on Junior’s progress with Lou Ann. He’d hunkered down in the chair Melody had wisely vacated and appeared to be meekly accepting the verbal whoop-ass Lou Ann was doling out. A good sign, Tyler decided, because Junior had it coming and she wasn’t likely to pick things up with him unless she got it out of her system.