Make You Blush (5 page)

“Hey, Ryan. You coming to poker?”

Ryan rooted around inside the fridge for a carton of orange juice, nearly dropping his phone and the call to his friend in the process. “Naw, man. I’m taking Joy out tonight for our three-month.”

“Your
three-month
?” Paul asked. His voice was thick with amusement. “You go, girl!”

Ryan cringed, instantly regretting he’d let that slip. “Shut up.”

“Don’t get your ovaries in a twist,” his friend teased. “Tell me what you’re gonna wear!”

“How about your ass on my boot? I think that would look great.”

Paul laughed. “You’re so touchy.” Then he muttered, “Must be that time of the month.”

After chugging a few sips of cold juice straight from the carton, Ryan told his buddy to do something physically impossible to himself.

“You know I’m just screwing with you,” Paul said. “Congrats, man. I didn’t think you and Joy would make it this long.”

Ryan wrinkled his forehead. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No offense or anything. I just can’t picture you rubbing elbows with her stuffy old man.” Paul belched into the phone like the classy guy he was. “That dude scares the bejeebus out of me. I think it’s his smile. His lips move, but his eyes are empty.”

“That’s the Botox.”

“Whatever. It’s creepy,” Paul said. “So what do her folks think of you?”

Ryan cleared the thickness that had suddenly developed inside his throat. He wanted to blame the juice, but he knew better. “I . . . uh . . . haven’t met them.”

“Still?”

“It’s no big deal,” Ryan said. “She hasn’t met my parents, either.” Never mind that his fosters had retired to Florida while Joy’s folks were right here in town.

“But she introduced you to her friends, right?” Paul asked. “Did they like you? ’Cause that’s the real litmus test, right there. If the friends hate you, your days are numbered.”

Ryan took another swig of juice and let the silence answer for him.

“You haven’t met her friends?” Paul asked. When a few more quiet seconds ticked by, he made a sympathetic grunting noise. “Sorry, man. Tough break. I know you’re really into her.”

“Things are fine.”

“Dude, if she hasn’t made the relationship public, it probably means she’s playing with you. Maybe she got bored and you’re a new flavor of man candy.”

“Did you actually just say
man candy
?”

“Think about it. She’s already met most of your friends.”

“Only because you came to the shop while she was there,” Ryan pointed out. “It’s not like I arranged an introduction.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’ be prepared. Because it sounds an awful lot like a fuck-and-chuck.”

“No way.” If all Joy wanted was casual sex, she wouldn’t have stuck around for three months. “It’s not like that. She’s just lying low until after the election.”

“Okay, bro.” Despite backing down, the tone of Paul’s voice said he wasn’t convinced. “I hope you get what you want.”

After they said good-bye and disconnected, Ryan shook off his friend’s words. Things with Joy were going better than ever, and he refused to look for trouble where it didn’t exist. Instead, he finished the carton of juice and strode to the shower to get ready for their date.

•   •   •

“Excuse me, sir?” The ship’s purser handed Ryan a souvenir cardboard frame showcasing a cartoon replica of the
Belle of the Bayou
. In bold lettering, it promised
Memories to Last a Lifetime!
“Here’s your photo.”

Joy scurried around to his side of the dinner table, and together they laughed at their digital print. Ryan’s eyes were closed, and a gust of wind had swept Joy’s hair across her face, making her resemble Cousin It from
The Addams Family
. Only their toothy smiles were visible as they cradled a round life preserver between them. The picture was horrible and cheesy and worth every penny of the fifteen dollars Ryan had spent on it. Because it proved what he’d already known—he and Joy were happy.

Man candy, my ass
.

“This is going on the wall in my shop,” he said. “I might even have it tattooed somewhere on my body.”

Joy tipped back her pretty blond head and laughed into the air, oblivious to the curious gazes she’d drawn from the other diners. She made a show of examining the Samoan art inked onto his forearms. “I don’t think you have a space big enough for anything this awesome.”

“For you, I’ll make room. I’ve got a few inches somewhere.”

“Oh, honey,” Joy said with a wink. “You’ve got a lot more than a few inches.”

Glancing around to make sure nobody would see, he delivered a playful smack on her bottom and sent her back to the other side of the table. “You’ve got a dirty mind tonight. Not that I’m complaining.”

“What?” she asked, blinking innocently as she lowered to her seat. “I was talking about the free space on your lower back.”

“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t buying it.

“And anyway, I think I should have the picture. It’ll look great in my office.”

“No way.” He made a lightning grab for the frame at the same time as Joy, and they tugged it back and forth.

“Okay, joint custody,” she said. “It’s too amazing not to share.”

Ryan pretended to consider her request. “All right. We’ll let the universe decide who gets it first.”

“Rock-paper-scissors?”

“You know it.”

They threw down right there at the table, and Ryan defeated Joy in a landslide. It was easy because he knew all her moves. She always picked rock on the first round. After some good-natured trash talking, he tucked the picture inside his breast pocket.

“Want to go sit outside?” he asked. “Looks like dinner won’t be ready for a while.”

Joy agreed, and they strode to the expansive main deck.

It was the perfect spring evening, warm but not muggy with just enough breeze rolling off the Mississippi to keep the mosquitoes at bay. The sun had slid below the horizon, casting a pink glow across the sky that reflected on the glassy river. From the rear of the boat, a massive paddlewheel turned a lazy rotation and filled the air with the lullaby of churning water. Ryan absorbed the sensations, musing that perhaps he’d been a riverboat captain in a previous life, because he felt like he belonged there.

There were a few other couples milling about, so Ryan dragged an oversize white rocking chair to a more secluded spot near the side deck rail. He sat down and Joy settled on his lap, nestling against him until he could feel her breath stirring at the base of his throat. He wrapped her in a loose embrace, and for the next several minutes, he rocked in silence, simply enjoying the breeze on his face and the scents of salty air mingling with Joy’s perfume.

Life didn’t get any better than this.

“Happy three-month anniversary,” she murmured against his shirt.

“You, too.”

“This is the perfect way to celebrate.” She squeezed him in a sleepy hug. “Thank you.”

When he returned the hug, his body practically vibrated with an emotion so strong it bordered on painful. This girl owned him. He’d never imagined he could fall so quickly—or so hard—but Joy had captivated every part of his body and mind.

“You set the bar pretty high,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m going to top this for our four-month.”

“You can always come to me for your first tattoo.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She lifted her head and delivered a mock solemn look. “A girl’s first time is a big responsibility. Sure you can handle that?”

He pretended to think it over. “Yeah, I’m man enough for the job.” Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ll even be gentle.”

“Will you respect me in the morning?”

“You bet,” he said. “But I should warn you—I’ll ruin you for all other tattoo artists.”

A slow smile spread across Joy’s lips, and something warm flashed behind her eyes. It looked a lot like love. “Yes, I imagine you will.”

•   •   •

Three meal courses and two cups of coffee later, they crossed the bow ramp into the dock parking lot and set off at an easy stroll toward Joy’s apartment in the French Quarter. A typical Saturday night, the sidewalks were teeming with a mixture of street performers, hustlers, and partiers, each one as important to the social ecosystem as the others. Ryan chuckled to himself when he noticed a group of tourists gawk in horror at a dominatrix leading her boyfriend on a leash.

New Orleans wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

He squeezed Joy’s hand and asked, “Hey, what’s your schedule look like this week? There’s a new band playing Wednesday at the coffee house, and I want to check it out.”

“Sounds fun. I don’t have anyth—” She cut off and came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, then dropped his hand like it was on fire.

Ryan glanced at his palm and back to her. “What’s wrong?”

She swore under her breath while staring straight ahead, apparently too shocked to answer him. When Ryan followed her gaze, he discovered a thirtysomething man feeding a parking meter. In his khaki slacks and short-sleeved polo, he looked like the kind of guy Joy would have dated at one time.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Ryan asked.

“No, worse.” She pushed down her hair to cover the multitude of piercings on the left side of her face and tugged the neckline of her dress to conceal more cleavage. “My dad’s campaign manager.”

Ryan didn’t see the problem, but judging by the way Joy glanced behind them as if to make a run for it, she must not like the guy.

“Don’t look over here,” she chanted. But the man had spotted them. With a smile and a wave, he headed their way. Joy formed a saccharine grin and told Ryan, “Stay here, okay?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She strode ahead a few yards to meet the man while Ryan stayed behind, still confused by her reaction. He tried not to be nosey, but he couldn’t help watching the pair from his periphery and listening in.

The two exchanged a stiff hug and a few generic pleasantries. Ryan couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but snippets reached him on the breeze. The man asked Joy if she would be at some gala fund-raiser next week, and she said yes. Then he asked what she was up to tonight, and she told him she was heading home from dinner with friends. When she hooked a thumb at Ryan, her next words nearly stopped his pulse.

“. . . just ran into one of my physical therapy clients . . .”

After that, Ryan quit hearing anything at all.

Once, when he was a kid, he was running bases with a giant wad of bubblegum in his mouth. The gum had somehow gotten wedged in his airway, and for a few terrifying seconds he hadn’t been able to breathe.

He felt that way now.

Joy’s casual lie repeated inside his head, followed closely by his friend’s advice from earlier that day:
If she hasn’t made the relationship public, it probably means she’s playing with you
. Ryan didn’t want to believe it, but the prickle of dread creeping over him refused to be ignored.

His stomach grew heavy as the weight of Joy’s words sank in. Then, like evidence at a jury trial, the facts presented themselves one by one, each more undeniable than the last. Joy hadn’t introduced him to her friends. She hadn’t wanted him at any of her father’s political events. She’d spent two weeks hiding him from the public. And most damning of all, she’d just told someone he was a client.

Not her boyfriend. A fucking client.

She was ashamed of him.

The longer Joy left him there like a discarded napkin, the harder Ryan’s heart pounded. His body heated until he had to unfasten the first four buttons of his shirt. He knew he should feel hurt, but the only emotion racking him was anger.

Maybe her vanilla boyfriends hadn’t hit the spot, so she’d decided to try a bite of spiced carrot cake—secretly, of course. Because God forbid anyone like Joy be romantically linked with him.

Ryan’s head swam so fiercely he didn’t notice when Joy and the campaign manager parted ways. The next thing he knew, she was standing in front of him wearing a relieved smile.

Joy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pointed to her eyebrow hoops. “He would’ve lost it if he’d seen me like this.”

“Or on a date with a lowly tattoo artist, I guess.” Ryan didn’t bother softening the razor-sharp edge of his voice. He couldn’t have, even if he’d tried.

Her smile faltered as if she hadn’t heard him right. “What are you—”

“But it’s okay to talk to a
client
, right?”

When Joy’s mouth dropped into an oval, Ryan knew she hadn’t meant for him to overhear that tidbit. Slowly, she shook her head. “Don’t get mad. It’s not like that.”

“No?” he asked. “Then what’s it like? I think you don’t want anyone to know we’re dating, because then Daddy might find out. Am I getting warm?”

“No. You’re jumping to conclusions. There’s noth—”

“I’m not a felon, Joy!” he barked. When a few onlookers from across the street raised their brows at him, he lowered his voice. “There’s no legitimate reason for you to treat me like your dirty little secret.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, I promise.”

“Once again, your words don’t match your actions.”

Joy reached out for him, but seemed to think better of it. “Ryan, you don’t know my—”

“What am I to you?” he interrupted. “Your boyfriend? Or a temporary good time?” When she gaped at him, her wide blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he took the liberty of answering for her. “Since you don’t seem to know, let me tell you what I’m
not
. I’m not a hoop in your eyebrow that you can remove or hide whenever it suits you.”

A single tear spilled free, and she splayed her hands as if begging for understanding. “I swear I don’t see you that way.”

“What am I to you?”

He didn’t know why he was giving her another chance. It was pathetic. He should walk away, but damned if his feet would listen. They remained glued to the sidewalk in hopes that Joy could explain away all the evidence and life could go back to normal.

But that didn’t happen. Joy just stood there, dumbstruck and crying.

“Never mind,” he said. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” Ryan scraped together what was left of his dignity and handed her their souvenir picture from the
Belle
. He didn’t want it anymore. “Here, take it. Now you can destroy all evidence that you slummed it with a guy like me.”