Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

By the time Ivy reached the track, there was no one left but Blake. She didn’t try to circumvent him, instead, she headed straight for him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when she came to a stop. “Are you stalking me now? Because every time I turn around, you’re there.”

Ivy snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Blake. I have better things to do with my time than follow you around. I came to visit my dad and the varsity marching band. I did a talk about making a career out of music.”

Now it was Blake’s turn to snort. “So did you tell them all how you did it? I mean the truth?”

Ivy crossed her arms over her chest, the brown leather of her jacket protesting the movement. “And what is the truth, exactly?” she asked.

“By humiliating other people and using their success as a springboard for yourself.” That was how she’d done it, after all. He had been the one on the news and in the headlines before that song catapulted her onto the radio. She could tell all the inspiring stories she wanted, but he knew the truth. She’d been struggling. Failing. Her music was going nowhere until they broke up and she publicly mocked him.

“That’s not exactly how I would describe it.” Ivy dropped her hands to her sides and walked past him toward her car.

Blake wasn’t about to let this go. Not today. If they were going to make it through the next couple of weeks of public scrutiny with polite smile, they needed to have it out here and now. He fell in step beside her as they headed toward her car. “And how exactly would you describe it, Ivy?”

“I told them what all my professors told me, and they were right. That they have to emotionally connect with their music. That’s where I struggled in school. It wasn’t until I had my heart brutally crushed,” she said, “that I was able to really tap into the emotional core of my songs. That’s what made the difference.”

“Brutally crushed? The only thing I recall being brutally crushed was my nut sack.”

He turned as they walked and saw an evil grin curl Ivy’s lips. She seemed pleased that she’d hurt him. He’d had to sit out his next practice because of her. The official excuse had been a “pulled groin,” but it was more like sitting on a bag of ice, waiting for his balls to drop for the second time in his life.

“That was the second crushing of the night,” she said. “I assure you.”

Her smile disappeared and there was a flash of hurt in Ivy’s eyes that Blake knew he was responsible for. He’d tried to forget about his role in this mess, but the truth was ugly. No matter how bad the battle had gotten, he’d started this war.

At the time, he’d thought he had good reasons for what he did. The distance between their schools made her seem more withdrawn than ever. The more successful his football career became, the more trouble she seemed to be having in her classes. He was the king on campus, and yet he was the only one who went back to the dorms alone after a game instead of into the arms of his girlfriend.

In retrospect, she was right to focus on her studies. They were just as important as his football. But in the moment, he had felt ignored, and there were plenty of girls who would’ve taken her place in a heartbeat. At every party, every game, there were women looking at him with a heat he couldn’t ignore. Blake was a Heisman contender, a household name for every Auburn home.

And yet his girlfriend couldn’t even come to a party to celebrate their big win. They had locked up the SEC title and were on the verge of taking the BCS Championship. He’d wanted to celebrate with Ivy that night. And when she couldn’t come, he’d consoled himself with too much beer. The cheerleader had set her sights on him once his defenses were down.

What he did after that was on him; he accepted responsibility for that. But it was just the first shot in the war. Ivy had fired back immediately, and his sensitive junk would never forget that.

They reached the edge of the field. Ever the gentleman, Blake held open the gate for her to go through, even as they discussed how she had nailed him hard in the crotch all those years ago. Little had he known that would be only the first affront to his manhood. The song had caused far more discomfort in the end.

They walked across the street, stopping at the driver’s door of her rental car. She seemed to want to climb inside and disappear, but Blake blocked the door. She wasn’t getting away that easily.

“So when you ‘really connected’ with your emotions, when you really got to the core of your music, the only thing you could connect with was my so-called small dick? How is that an emotional breakthrough? I’ve wondered all these years.”

Ivy looked around nervously for people coming in and out of the post office and the bank. “Please keep your voice down, Blake. It’s early and this is a public place with children and elderly nearby, not some rowdy bar with drunks to cheer on our insults.”

“Fine.” Blake grabbed her wrist to pull her into the alleyway between the two buildings, but the moment he touched her, he found his feet wouldn’t move. His palm prickled with what felt like static electricity. The current of the connection surged down his arm, setting every fiber of his nervous system alight with awareness.

His eyes met hers for a moment. They were wide, their dark green depths confused and undeniably aware of their connection. Whatever the two of them had had all those years ago, it was still there, and as powerful as ever. Her lips parted softly, sucking in a surprised breath and reminding him of the nights he’d spent kissing her. It felt like a million years ago and yet like just yesterday. Part of him wanted to tug her close, let her body slam into his and kiss her until the hateful words stopped. A light pink flush rose to Ivy’s cheeks, her tongue snaking across her lips to moisten them. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she wanted him to kiss her.

When a nearby truck honked to greet someone on the street, the spell was broken. Blake shook it off, but didn’t let go. He pulled her into the alley as he’d planned. When they got there, Ivy twisted her arm and pulled it out of his grasp.

“If my bodyguard was here, he’d break your hand,” she said warily, her eyes refusing to meet his.

&n

bsp; She could go ahead and try to convince herself that they didn’t have a connection if she wanted to, but she couldn’t lie to him. He knew her every response: her soft gasps, her escalating cries, her clawing fingers across his shoulder blades . . . She may have expanded her horizons in the past few years, but she could never change the fact that he was her first.

“If your bodyguard was here, Ivy Grace, you wouldn’t have been begging me to kiss you just then.”

The color drained momentarily from her face, then like a tidal wave, a rush of crimson anger flushed her skin. At one time, Blake had really loved loving Ivy. Since that was no longer a possibility, he would settle for loving to aggravate the shit out of her.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”