Make You Blush (6 page)

Then he turned on his booted heel and left her behind. He didn’t look back.

Halfway up the block, the pain he’d been too shocked to feel caught up to him with lethal force. It started as a white-hot pinprick behind his breastbone and, within seconds, spread outward until he could barely breathe. Ryan had inked and pierced nearly every part of his body, but he’d never hurt like this. Once he was certain Joy couldn’t see him, he leaned against the nearest building and braced both hands on his knees.

Whoever said it was ”better to have loved and lost” was a serious dipshit.

The Horny Hippies were at it again, and judging by the volume of their moans, they were either achieving tantric climax or amputating each other’s limbs. Joy hoped for the latter. Because now that she knew what she was missing, each of their cries was like salt on a skinned knee, and she didn’t need another reminder of what she’d lost.

“Whatever,” she muttered while shuffling her slippers across the living room. “I can have an orgasm without a man.” But she tasted the lie on her tongue. No battery-operated toy could master her body the way Ryan had.

She kicked aside an empty pizza box and plopped down onto the sofa, then curled up in a ball to stare at the television. Welling moisture blurred her vision, not that she cared to watch whatever was playing. She dragged a crumpled tissue beneath her nose and blotted her eyes, which brought Ryan’s discarded T-shirt into focus.

Like an addict jonesing for a fix, she snatched the shirt from the coffee table and brought it to her nose, pulling in a deep breath. It still smelled like his spicy aftershave even after a week, and the familiar scent filled her with a mingling of relief and pain.

God, she missed him.

She missed the sound of Ryan’s voice and the lopsided curve of his smile. She missed the feel of his hands on her skin, both tender and possessive. More than that, she missed the way he listened when she spoke, as if nothing on earth were more fascinating than what she’d had for lunch that day.

Each night without him felt emptier than the last, and she couldn’t look at cupcakes, pretzels, or any flavor of Ben & Jerry’s without breaking into hysterics. Which made grocery shopping quite the adventure. Joy’s time apart from Ryan had finally allowed her to see that she loved him—straight to the bottom of her broken heart.

Not that it mattered.

When she’d tried to apologize, he’d screened her calls and refused to answer. Her instincts told her she could earn his forgiveness, but not unless she dated him publicly. Very publicly, as in taking him home to meet Mom and Dad. And she’d survived enough lectures on the science behind image in politics—everything from tie color symbolism to which hairstyles voters favor—to know that her father would have a conniption fit.

If only Ryan could wait until after the election . . .

But she had no right to ask that of him.

Her cell phone rang from beneath a pile of tissues, and Joy sprung from the sofa in hopes that Ryan had finally returned one of her messages. Her fingers trembled as she turned it over and glimpsed the screen.

Mom calling.

Joy’s heart sank. She swiped the glass and answered. “I know, I know. I’ll be there.”

Mom paused for a beat. “You sound awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, heavens. Are you sick?” In typical Mom fashion, she kept her panic level dialed to
Impending Apocalypse
. “Because there’s a case of meningitis at the university.”

“I graduated, Mom.” Joy dabbed at her nose. “Remember? You were there.”

“What’s your temperature?”

“I’m not sick.” Not physically, anyway. Heartsickness carried its fair share of horrible symptoms, but it wouldn’t get her a day off from work. Or a free pass from fund-raiser gala. “I’m just upset.”

Apparently, Mom was okay with that. “Then hurry up and get yourself together. Charles Pennington is already asking for you.”

“Who?”

“You know,” Mom said. “That nice young man you dated a few months ago.”

“Oh.” She meant Orville Redenbacher. Joy grimaced and glanced at her palm, making a mental note to pack hand sanitizer in her purse. “Thanks for the warning.”

•   •   •

Two hours later, Orville—er, Charles—waved at her from the other side of the ballroom. He came bounding toward her with the enthusiasm of a puppy about to wet itself, and when he scrubbed a fist beneath his nose, Joy stretched out her arms to him, opting for a hug instead of a handshake.

That was her first mistake of the evening.

She kept her end of the embrace professional, but Charles didn’t. He planted a wet kiss at her jawline while his hands slid dangerously close to ass territory. Joy stiffened before pushing away. Charles didn’t strike her as the type to cop a feel.

“Great to see you again,” she lied while backing up a pace.

“You, too.” His gaze swept her from head to toe with the wide, unfocused eyes of a man who couldn’t hold his liquor. Clearly, he’d taken full advantage of the open bar, which explained a few things. “You look
gooooor
-geous.”

Only a drunkard would think so. All the makeup in Joy’s arsenal couldn’t conceal the puffiness beneath her eyes, and thanks to a week of nonstop pizza consumption, her dress zipper was begging for mercy. “Thanks. You’re too sweet.”

“Wanna dance?”

Caught off guard, Joy peered around the room at the rows of tables decked out in white linen and bone china. At a thousand dollars per plate, Daddy had packed in as many place settings as logistically possible, and every pocket of space was occupied by laughing partygoers. “I don’t see a dance floor.”

Charles slipped an arm around her waist and jerked her forward until she landed against his chest with an
oof
! “Who needs a dance floor?”

Joy turned her face aside to dodge another kiss, but that didn’t stop the stench of sour whisky from filling her nostrils. Sweet Jesus, what was up with this guy?

Charles crushed their hips together and showed her exactly what was
up
.

“Oh, God!” In a panic, she pushed back hard enough to detangle herself. Unfortunately, it was also hard enough to send Charles stumbling into a passing cocktail waitress. The girl lost her footing, and they went down in a clumsy spiral, along with the two dozen glasses of champagne on her tray.

The sound of breaking glass silenced the room and drew hundreds of gazes to Joy and the two soaking-wet victims at her feet. Cringing, she tiptoed through the glass and helped the waitress stand, but when she offered her hand to Charles, he waved her off.

“What’s your problem?” he demanded, his bow tie limp and crooked like an overcooked bit of pasta. “All I wanted was a dance!”

Joy’s face heated, but with anger, not embarrassment. “Go home, Orville,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

A large hand appeared at Joy’s elbow, and she turned to find her father bent over Charles. “So sorry,” Daddy said. “Please excuse us for a moment.” His unnaturally white teeth shone beneath a tight smile as he tugged Joy toward the lobby. Once they were out of earshot, he lit into her with a whisper-yell. “What were you thinking?”

“It was an accident,” Joy said. “I was just trying to get him off me.”

“Get him
off you
?” Daddy parroted. “For God’s sake, Joy, don’t be so damned dramatic. It’s not like he held a knife to your throat and violated you right there on the dinner table.”

“No,” she hissed back. “He licked the side of my face and shoved his erection on my thigh!”

Daddy’s eyes flew wide, and he darted a glance in every direction as if to ensure nobody had overheard. “Get a grip,” he chided. “That boy’s family has more money than God, and I busted my tail to get their backing. Your idea of gratitude is shoving their son to the floor just because he was a little . . . excited to see you?” He thrust a finger toward the ballroom. “Get in there and make it right.”

Joy’s lips parted. It took a few moments to find her voice. “What do you mean, make it right?”

“Talk to him,” he ordered. “Apologize. Invite him to dinner at the house. Whatever it takes.”

“Let me get this straight,” she said with a calm that amazed her. “Charles manhandled me, and you want me to have him over for dinner?”

“It’s not the end of the world,” Daddy said. “People are drawn to candidates who make them feel good. Right now, that’s my job—to make my supporters feel good. And by extension, it’s your job.”

“To make Charles
feel good
?”

Daddy scrubbed a hand over his face. “Stop trying to spin this into something sordid. Just go out there and make yourself useful.”

Make herself useful? Is that how he saw her—as a means to an end?

“Right now,” he added, confirming her theory.

Joy stood frozen in shock, her mind reeling. She’d heard stories about epiphanies, but she’d never experienced a moment of life-changing clarity—until now. Standing in front of her father, with his fake tanned skin and his gray hair shellacked to perfection, she understood why the spirits of her ancestors had wanted her to cut the apron ties.

Because Daddy had changed.

The knight in shining Levi’s who’d once wrestled a wild possum in the attic was gone. The senatorial candidate in front of her was a stranger, and his love came with a price. Joy thought of Ryan, and how he’d loved her without asking for anything in return. She’d given her loyalty to the wrong man.

It was time to rectify that.

“No,” she said. “I quit.”

Daddy’s gaze hardened like flint. “Over my dead body, you quit. I’ve never denied you anything—money, cars, an education, even the roof over your head.”

“And all you want in exchange is my dignity.”

“Your
support
. Once again, you’re being dramatic.”

“Give me a few weeks to find a new place,” Joy said. “Then the apartment is yours. Sell it and put the money where your heart is—in your campaign.”

That seemed to get through to him. His brows lifted by a fraction, an impressive feat considering Botox had deadened half his face. “That’s not—”

“Same goes for the car.” She loved her Audi, but not enough to let Daddy lord it over her. She’d rather drive a rusted beater. “Your name’s on the title, anyway.”

“Are you done behaving like a child?” he asked, gripping his hips. “Are you ready to have a grown-up conversation now?”

Joy refused to take the bait. “Tell Mom she’s free to call, but not if she’s going to harass me about this.” She pointed at her father. “And until you apologize, you’ve not only lost me, you’ve lost my vote.”

If that didn’t reach him, nothing would.

Then she turned and strode out of the banquet hall. Once she reached the dim parking lot, she released a breath, feeling lighter by a hundred pounds—the approximate weight of Daddy’s shadow.

Now to reclaim her life. And the man who’d helped changed it.

“Dude,” Ryan said to his friend, “I never want to be this close to your bare ass again.”

Paul was stretched out on the reclining workroom chair, his athletic shorts pulled down over both butt cheeks to display the demonic looking Smurf tattoo he wanted Ryan to magically transform into a bald eagle. “But you can do it, right?”

“Well . . .” Ryan was good, but maybe not
that
good. If he squinted and tilted his head to the side, he could kind of imagine the Smurf’s floppy hat as a bird’s beak. “Yeah, but it’ll be painful. For both of us.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Truthfully, Ryan didn’t mind. He did his best to stay busy these days because it helped keep his thoughts off the ever-present ache inside his chest. And if anything could distract him from Joy, it was a botched cartoon ass critter. After sketching the eagle, he transferred the image onto his friend’s backside and prepared his ink.

“What were you thinking?” Ryan asked, shaking his head at the Smurf’s warped face.

“I wasn’t,” Paul said. “It was senior-year spring break.”

“Was your old buddy Jim Beam involved?”

“You know it.
And
that rat bastard Jose Cuervo.”

“Sons of bitches, both of them.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

When the tattoo machine was ready, Ryan placed one latex-gloved hand on his tool grip and the other on his buddy’s naked ham hock. “You ready?”

“Fire away.”

Over the next half hour, he worked methodically while Paul discussed his strategy for the next season’s fantasy football draft. Ordinarily, Ryan engaged his clients in conversation, but this cover-up required more attention to detail. So he tuned out his friend’s chatter and offered an occasional
mmm-hmm
to keep him happy.

Ryan had just finished the eagle’s head and begun inking its neck when the lobby door opened with a
ding
!
He set down his tool and blotted the excess ink and blood from his buddy’s skin. “Sorry,” he hollered through the doorway. “My receptionist’s off today and I’m in the middle of a job. Won’t be done for at least another hour.”

“No worries,” said a painfully familiar voice. “I heard you’re worth the wait.”

It was a good thing Ryan had set down his tool before he glanced into the lobby, because the resulting double-take would have had him poking a hole in Paul’s ass. Joy was standing there watching him with a coy smile, but he never would have recognized her if she hadn’t spoken first.

In cherry red stilettos that matched the new color of her hair, she clicked across the waiting area and leaned against the doorjamb to the workroom. She’d swapped out her delicate eyebrow hoops for bolder curved barbells, but what really had Ryan’s jaw dropping was her vintage swing dress. All black with white polka dots, it gripped her slim waist like a second skin before flaring out to the knee. Two halter straps tied behind her neck drew Ryan’s eye to a deep line of lush cleavage on display. In this getup, Joy was a retro wet dream. He almost forgot which century he was in.

But what was she doing here . . . dressed like that?

“Wh—” he began before all the air left his lungs.

“I’m ready for my first tattoo.” She used a red-painted fingernail to trace a heart above her left breast. “The name
Ryan
, right here where everyone can see it. What do you think?”

Thinking wasn’t really an option. He was too shocked. Joy had just strode back into his life, and it sounded an awful lot like she wanted him—and not for man candy. Ryan couldn’t stop the corners of his lips lifting in a grin. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew he should play it cool, but he’d missed her too much for that. It was all he could do to stay in his seat and not rush across the room to scoop her into his arms.

“Sounds permanent,” he said. “You can’t take off a tattoo whenever it suits you.”

“No, you can’t,” she agreed. “That’s kind of the point.”

“Are you sure he’s that special?” Ryan gestured at his tattoo machine. “Because I do a lot of cover-ups, mostly of names.”

Joy’s smile slid away, and she gazed at him with an intensity that made Ryan’s breath catch. “He’s the best,” she said. “And I’m crazy in love with him.”

That’s when Paul piped up and ruined the moment. “This is so cool. It’s like the end of
Grease
, where Sandy shows up at the carnival dressed like a hooker.”

Ryan smacked his friend upside the head.

“What?” Paul asked, rubbing his scalp. “All I’m saying is she changed for you.”

Joy laughed and smoothed the fabric of her dress. “I didn’t change for anyone. This was always me; I just didn’t know it until now.” When her gaze landed on Paul’s backside, she wrinkled her forehead. “Hey, is that a Smurf? With the head of a bird?”

“It’s a work in progress.” Ryan covered the eagle with a sterile bandage and asked Paul if they could finish the job later.

“Sure, man.” Gingerly, Paul pulled up his shorts and stood from the recliner. “Just call me when you two are done making up.” He winked at Joy, and then he was gone.

Ryan rose from his seat, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Now that he and Joy were alone, a haze of awkward silence had settled between them. Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask, “Did you really mean that?”

Joy clicked into the workroom, closing the distance until she stood close enough to fill his space with the sweetness of her perfume. “Every word. I want you to know I’m sorry.” Her gaze dropped to the tips of her pretty toes. “I was an idiot, but I was never ashamed of you. If you take me back, I’ll tell the whole world we’re together. I’m not exactly on speaking terms with my family, but I’ll introduce you when that changes.” She peeked up from beneath thick lashes. “Can you forgive me?”

Was that a trick question? His heart had belonged to her as soon as she’d stepped through the door. “On one condition,” he said.

She nodded.

“Tell me you love me again.”

The signature pink blush he adored stained her cheeks. “I love you,” she said. “I love the way you look at me like I’m the only woman alive. I love the way you narrate the gory scenes in movies so I don’t have to watch people die. I love the way my face fits perfectly in that spot on your chest. And more than anything, I love that you appreciated me when I was vanilla.” Moisture welled in her eyes, and her voice cracked to a whisper. “I love everything about you.”

In one step, Ryan eliminated the space between them and took her cheeks between his palms. He kissed her in a gentle sweep of lips and whispered, “Love you too, Cupcake,” before capturing her mouth with all the passion threatening to burst him at the seams.

She locked both arms around his neck and crushed herself to his chest, and for the next several minutes, Ryan closed his eyes and filled his senses with Joy—the sweet taste of iced tea on her tongue, the firm cushion of her breasts against his ribcage, the lingering scent of dye clinging to her hair. It felt surreal to have her back in his arms, and she must have agreed, because their kisses built from a soft dance of tongues into a desperate tangle of limbs.

When they broke for air, Joy panted, “Wait, stop,” then gained a few inches of distance.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t come here for a temporary good time,” she said. “I want to take you out for lunch—a very public lunch.”

Since all the blood in Ryan’s brain had traveled south, it took a moment for the message to sink in. Then he recalled that the night they’d broken up, he’d accused her of using him for sex. “I appreciate the gesture,” he said, “but I have a better idea. How about I lock the door and we have a private lunch instead?”

She pushed both hands forward. “No. I’m taking you out and showing you off.”

“Trust me, it’s not necessary.”

“I insist.” And the firm set of her jaw said she was serious.

Damn it.
Ryan had cock-blocked himself. Who complained about a beautiful woman using them for sex, anyway?

Joy must have seen the desperation on his face—or outlining the front of his pants—because she walked her fingers up his chest and smiled seductively. “But
after
that very public lunch? I’m all yours.”

“Now you’re talking.” Ryan drew her in for a chaste kiss. “But no tatts for you today.”

“Why not?”

“Because your skin will need time to heal.” He bent to whisper in her ear, “And that means I can’t lay you down and kiss every inch of your body.”

“Good point,” she said with a delicious shiver. “Tomorrow, then?”

He shook his head. “Next week.”

“Well it
is
my first time,” she breathed. “So we probably shouldn’t rush.”

Ryan wanted to tell her they had the rest of their lives for such things, but he kept that sentiment to himself. It was still early, and like Joy said, there was no need to rush. “Don’t worry,” he said while leading her to the front door. “I’ll clear my schedule whenever you’re ready.”

After he locked up, he turned to find Joy peering across the street at the Sweet Spot bakery. He joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist and wondering what she was thinking. Maybe she wanted to pick up some dessert after lunch.

“Does Allie Mauvais have anyone special in her life?” Joy asked.

Ryan shrugged. Aside from an occasional wave hello, he and Allie didn’t interact much. “I don’t know. But I haven’t seen many guys go in there.” Most of Allie’s customers were teenagers looking for love charms. He remembered the day Joy had strolled into his shop with that ten-pound box of baked goods in tow, and he pulled her nearer with a smile. “I sure am glad she sent you my way, though.”

Joy bit her lip. She didn’t seem to like his answer.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I just hope Allie’s as happy as she made me.” Joy gazed up at him, her blue eyes shining with the gratitude of a woman who had everything she wanted. “Nobody deserves it more. If it weren’t for her, I never would have met you.”

Ryan wasn’t sure he believed in Allie’s voodoo charms, but he was mighty thankful that fate or kismet or whatever she wanted to call it had inspired Joy to visit him that day. “Thank God for love spells,” he said.

“And cupcakes.”

“Especially cupcakes,” he agreed. They’d made his life sweet in so many ways.

“Ready?” Joy nodded toward the other end of the street.

“You bet.” He took his girl by the hand and set off toward his favorite deli. “You and me and pastrami makes three,” he joked. “Could this day get any better?”

“Oh, definitely,” she promised with a wink. “The best is yet to come.”